Daisy Chain
by Copper Tragic
Summary: The childhood of the Evenstar. The events and emotions that shaped and destroyed her. Some fluff, much angst. Chapter eleven: Pain brings peace
1. Won't you come out to play

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places thereof  
  
Author's note: to make this easier for everyone, Arwen states her age as it would be to a mortal. Elven aging is actually anywhere from one year to two and a half mortal years to one year to five mortal years, as far as I know. In this, Arwen will refer to a "year", which to her is two and a half to five years to us. Does that make sense?  
  
Author: Copper Tragic  
  
Title: Daisy Chain  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Archive: Please ask first  
  
Feedback: Yes, please!  
  
With thanks to my beta-reader, Ariel: whatever would I do without you?  
  
*****  
  
I never understood how my brothers could sleep some nights. When it was summer, the heat kept me practically immobile. At night I would lie atop the sheets and feel my night-clothes stick to my body with sweat. I would toss and turn with discomfort, but to no end, for motion only increased the heat. My parents would always be amazed at the amount of water I drank during the day. They never understood how much I lost in the night.  
  
There were games I would play. I would try to imagine that I was submerged in an icy lake. My feet would go numb, then my legs, the numbness creeping slowly upwards. The game was supposed to make me sleep by the time it reached my head, but it only made me feel hotter and made me sweat more. Some nights I would try to lie perfectly still, and listen to the sounds of the night. I would count in my head, trying to memorize the list: one, owl, two, crickets. . .Nothing worked. When at last I drifted off to sleep, it was only to be awoken moments later by the morning birds and sunshine. Other nights I did not sleep at all.  
  
Somehow there was always activity during the day. I, alone as usual, would slip away, and explore within the perimeters my parents had set for me: I was not allowed out of Imladris nor across the Bruinen, and that was that. As there was much I had yet to explore within these confines I did not argue. Naneth insisted that I always take a picnic meal with me, which became something of a burden at times, but I carried the food in my knapsack, and was more often than not grateful for it. My treks took me half a day's journey away from home, usually. I set my own limitations, that as soon as the sun peaked I must head no farther from home. My parents would worry if the sun was beginning to set before I returned.  
  
I remember one day finding what I thought to be the largest tree I had ever seen. The largest in Imladris, at any rate, for I remembered Grandmother's forest but did not count it. And of course, as a young girl encountering a large tree, I endeavored to climb it. I dropped my knapsack to the ground and was just about to leap for the lowest branch--when I realized that a tattered dress was not quite what my parents hoped to see when I returned. Knowing this, I stripped down to my underclothes and scrabbled into the branches. In a matter of minutes I had reached branches so thick I could walk upon them. While I was well aware of the fact that I might fall and be hurt, I never thought I actually would--no child does. And certainly no Elf considers his or her own death. So it was without giving any serious thought to the matter that I climbed up to the highest branch that would take my weight and threw my arms open, inviting all the land I saw into my heart. It was beautiful: treetops and birds below me. I had never been up so high in my life, and I trilled my ecstasy.  
  
Another time I set down by the lake not an hour's walk from home. I threw my knapsack beside me and pulled out a ball of twine I had brought with me. This day had a plan. I found a nice, long stick and tied a length of string to the end, cutting it off with Naneth's sewing scissors. I was not allowed to have these, but had not asked and had simply taken them instead. With a bead for a sinker, I was nearly ready. First I spent a good half hour digging around in the dirt to gather up some worms. By the time I was satisfied with my pole, my worms (which I kept in a small cloth bag), my string, my knot, and my bead-sinker, my stomach was growling. That day I was truly thankful for Naneth's insistence that I bring nourishment with me, because I sure was hungry! Once I had eaten I cast the sinker into the water and waited. I did not catch any fish. It is one of my favourite memories.  
  
I went fishing another time that summer. This time, I had a determination. I wanted to catch a fish, I needed to catch a fish. It was a two-day project. The first day, Elladan and I dug up worms together. He told me to only take the really fat, juicy-looking ones that I would want to eat--if I was a fish, he added quickly. "You know, Arwen," he told me later, "technically, you are going to eat the worm. You eat the fish that eats the worm." We must have caught a hundred worms--at least it felt that way. I think it was actually more like thirty, because Elladan threw so many back. We kept them in a jar with holes poked in the lid that Elladan and Elrohir used to keep frogs in, when they were my age. He even helped me make a proper pole, with a hook. The next day, Elladan took me out to the lake. Naneth and Ada said I could not go out on my own so early in the morning, so Elladan accompanied me.  
  
I had not realized just how early we were leaving. "Arwen," said Elladan, shaking my shoulder. "Arwen, wake up." I shook the sleep from my eyes and looked at my brother. He was standing beside my bed, already dressed, a vague form in the grey light of pre-dawn.  
  
"Elladan, what are you doing?" I asked him. "What time is it?"  
  
"The fish get up early, Arwen, and so should we, to catch them." He left the room, and I forced myself to rise. I washed my face and combed my hair, then dressed and pulled on my boots under my dress. Summer boots were my favourite shoes, always. They would be worn-in and caked with mud by the end of the summer, their insides softened with my sweat then formed again so that only I could wear them comfortably. Many Elves neglected to wear boots at all as they were unnecessary, but I liked them. Anyone who didn't was truly missing out. There is something special, magical, in the feeling of lacing up bootlaces, tying them in tight bows, and clomping around in personalized shoes. That morning I stood before the mirror and wriggled my toes, before dashing into the hall to meet Elladan.  
  
We each carried a pail to hold the fish we planned on catching, and I had my pole slung over my shoulder. Elladan had our worms in his pail, in their jar. Just as we were leaving, taking a care to be as quiet as possible, Naneth stopped us. "Here," she said, holding out my knapsack, "take this with you. I know you are going to catch fish, but you should have a default meal prepared." Naneth was always like that: she looked out for us, but she never interfered. She did things in a way that radiated love.  
  
"Thank you, Naneth," Elladan said, taking the knapsack and giving her a one- armed hug and a kiss on the cheek.  
  
"Nana, you did not have to wake up just because we did," I said, hugging her tightly. "I am going to catch you a fish today, Nana," I promised.  
  
"All right, Arwen," she said, "you have a good time." Then she saw us to the gate and waved at us, and I waved back. I wanted to walk backwards, but Elladan said that would take too long. I did peek over my shoulder often, so I know that Naneth stood at the gate and watched until we were out of sight. I hoped she did not spend too long standing at the gate. Later Elrohir, who had been unable to participate as his arm had been injured in a sparring accident, told Elladan, and I overheard, that Naneth did not go back to bed, but she did not appear to worry. In those days, I did not think that she worried, because as I had no conception of danger I knew not of any reason she might worry.  
  
Elladan and I tramped along the path in amiable silence. We listened to the birds of early morn sing and twitter. I saw a red squirrel disappear up a tree. It was dark, but I was not frightened as Elladan seemed to think I might be. He kept saying pointless things like "Are you all right there, Arwen?" and "I never had so much energy as a child, not at this hour." At that point I told him that as I was awake, I might as well make good use of my hours. Sleep, to me, came with difficulty but left with ease. This last part I did not tell Elladan, because I knew he would worry--older people sometimes worried about such insignificant little things.  
  
At last we reached the lake. A hint of pink was beginning to appear on the horizon, hinting at nearby dawn. Tiny black insects were buzzing about above the surface of the lake. As I watched, a fish leapt from the waters and swallowed up one of the insects. I made a face, and Elladan laughed. "Now you see why we came at this hour!" he exclaimed, plunking himself down on a rock. I copied, then cast my line--these were fancy words Elladan used, and I liked the way they felt. For a long time we sat quietly together, waiting for the fish to bite. The sun rose, and I started to watch, but Elladan said that was unhealthy, so instead I watched the reflection in the water. It was beautiful there, too, even though I saw shadowy images for a while afterwards.  
  
The sun was high in the sky, but it was early yet. I had not caught any fish. "Are you hungry?" Elladan asked. I was, but I shook my head to say I was not. "Well, I am," he replied, and lifted the knapsack onto his lap. "Let's see what Naneth packed us." He rummaged around for a moment, then grinned. "It looks as though we may stay out all day if we wish to, Arwen, because Naneth has sent us prepared!" He handed me a muffin. "Just in case," he said, then started in on a muffin of his own. Within moments my muffin had disappeared, and Elladan was grinning.  
  
Late afternoon came. I had not caught a fish yet. Elladan had stretched himself out on a slab of stone and covered his face with his hat. He might have been asleep. A part of me wanted to give up, but the rest of me protested, if only for Elladan's sake, and for the promise I had made to Naneth. Just as I had become firm in my decision, I felt a jerk at the pole in my hands. I started and grabbed the pole tighter as the jerk came again. "Elladan!" I cried. "Elladan, I think I caught something!" He was awake in an instant, helping me hold the pole and pull it out of the water. A silvery, slippery, wet fish the length of my forearm floundered on the rocks. Elladan handed me a heavy stick. I stared at him, not understanding, then took a swing at the fish. I missed and hit my brother on the foot. The next swing, I smashed the fish on the head. Elladan asked if I was ready to go home, and I said I was not. That day I caught four more fish, and I did not once more hit my brother on accident--or on purpose, for that matter. He forgave me for the stick incident, of course, though much to my chagrin would later recount it to our family. We returned home late, and ran the entire distance, but were happy with fish in our pails, bug bites on our skin, and spots of red on our cheeks. Elrohir was so jealous, he made us recount the story time and time again.  
  
These adventures occurred in a space of about three years. It was between the time when Elladan told me I was ugly and made me cry and the time I was caught breaking curfew and a few other rules. That same year, Ada would ask Legolas to stop calling me his future bride. Not so very long after I would begin to understand, but it would take many, many years for me to forgive him. But that was not the reason I stopped having adventures, though that, also, was Ada's fault.  
  
One night I could not stand the heat. It was just too much, washing over me in waves, rising in my shoulders. My underarms and the backs of my knees were soaked with sweat, and my nightgown was uncomfortably sticky. It seemed my skin was crawling. When it was too much to bear I tiptoed across the floor and shut the door to my room and stripped off my nightgown. The window provided ventilation, so I needed not worry about fresh air. But even without my nightgown, the heat was unbearable.  
  
I put my nightgown back on, and stole into the corridor. With a deep breath, I took my first step towards my first time out alone when I was not allowed. My heart was pounding with fear. I passed Elladan's room first, then Elrohir's. I was not afraid of them, trusting that they would not stop me. When I came to Naneth and Ada's room, I stopped. Here my courage would be measured: either I would pass by and be very brave but quite possibly punished, or I would go back to my room a coward for ever. I took a deep breath and held it, then dashed past their open door, out of the house, and into Naneth's garden. I did not stop running until I was outside of the gate and hidden, then I panted for breath. Although, or mayhap because, I had broken a huge rule, I was perversely proud of myself. I was brave.  
  
The lake where Elladan and I had gone fishing was the closest I could think of, and so I headed for it. At first I walked, thinking this would be better as running would cause my blood to pump harder and my temperature to rise. After a time, I realized that it would be better to run and have the tramp over with. I broke to my top speed and raced, running along the path with the wind in my ears. I enjoyed the run so much that I took a longer path, and came out on the opposite side of the lake to the rocks. Here there was a muddy and grassy shore.  
  
The air was still and containing a certain quiet loud one could not help but admire. The wind rustled the leaves of the trees, so abundant and lively about me, and even the grass whispered into the night. Summer reflected plainly in the air, which could be breathed in to experience the exact oppression, the heaviness, the stifling and smothering quality which would for ever mark that time when heat reigned. The moon hung high in the sky, full and smiling down upon me. Upon the water the moon threw her glowing shadow, a white orb alighting upon the world, casting silver tendrils across the grassy lawns and eerily alighting the patches of woodland. The plants were more filled with life, and the shadows deeper and darker with secrets.  
  
The lake was quiet that night, its waters transmuted from an inky blackness to, with the prompting of the moon, a deep blue, only a step from black yet clearly defined as not. The wind traipsed over the body of the lake, telling some gaudy secret which was flown on rippling waters to the shore, leaving all the surface atwitter. A peaceful lapping sound added to the gossip of the wind, calming the night and the chill upon the air. Somewhere near the tree line a jackrabbit or squirrel bounded towards its accustomed domain, paused, then continued onwards. The lapping continued, as though unaware of the goings-on of other creatures, soothing the hour into tranquillity, as though Ulmo himself resided in those waters and sought to sing this lullaby to his children--or really, Navanna's children.  
  
Upon a granite slab protruding over the water where rock met grass stood a lone figure, me, a shadow upon shadows in the moonlight. The moonlight showed me for a young woman, not bent with age and certainly not yet grown with it. I raised one arm to my head and loosed my masses of hair, allowing a leather tie to flutter to the ground. I bent my hair forward and shook it, then retrieved the leather tie and again bound my locks, tighter in a tail than before. My hands trailed down as if to my sides, and all of me bent with them, reaching down to my calves and grasping my nightgown, only to strip the garment away and drop it on the stone beside me. For a moment I stood there, naked and shivering. Then with a gasping breath I dived, threw my arms back then forward, arcing in the air and entering the water with hardly a splash.  
  
Below, the world roared in my ears. I did not waste a moment, but swam firmly and swiftly down to the bottom of the lake, my hands pounding into the ground and sending up clouds of silt. Choosing a smooth grey stone I grasped it in my hands and returned the surface, breaking through with a tremendous noise in my ears and drawing in deep breaths. The water had shocked me upon impact, being beyond cold with the night despite the summer heat, but I had not given in to my first instinct to hurry back to shore. Now my lungs burned within my chest, and I swam a lap to warm myself, depositing my rock on my original perch then swimming the perimeter again. My skin that was exposed to the air prickled and I could hardly gather the air to my lungs. It felt so good to be cool and wet.  
  
I dived down again, loving the feeling of being so submerged, the oneness with the water. My hair freed itself and wafted before my face. I chased bubbles of air with my hands. When at last I was compelled to return to the surface for air, with great regret I left my underwater paradise. I did not know, then, how long it would be before I was allowed to return.  
  
"Arwen!" a shocked voice exclaimed. I turned to see Ada standing on the shore, looking quite scandalized.  
  
"What is it, Ada?" I asked.  
  
"What is it?" he repeated in disbelief. "Arwen! Come out of there at once!" I did not understand why, but I knew he was angry, so I did as he asked. When he saw that I was not dressed he turned so as not to look at me as I pulled on my nightgown. "What were you thinking?" he asked when I was dressed again.  
  
"That I wanted to be cool," I replied honestly.  
  
"Arwen, listen to me. I know that you are still a child and that you act as such, but now I must ask that you take more care in your. . .exposure. Think of what might have happened if an Elf of. . .less virtue had come across you. Arwen, you must have no more of these escapades, do you understand? No tramping through the woods all day alone, and especially no more night swims."  
  
"But why?" I asked, and the look on his face was so withering that I replied, "I promise, Ada."  
  
We walked home together. I was too young to know what I had done wrong. The idea of innocence, that someone might take advantage of a young and defenseless girl such as myself, had not crossed my mind. When I asked Elrohir what "an Elf of less virtue" meant he said he was unsure, but in another conversation I overheard Ada told Naneth exactly what he was afraid of. That was the first time the mechanics of reproduction were introduced to me, and the first time I realized that my world was not so safe as I thought. I was just over eleven years old.  
  
*****  
  
To Be Continued  
  
Elvish translations:  
  
Ada = Dad, Daddy  
  
Naneth = Mother  
  
Nana = Mom, Mommy  
  
Explanations on Valar references:  
  
Yavanna was the giver of fruits, the mother of all things that grew. The reference to "Yavanna's children" meant the plants, trees, grass, and all of nature around the pond.  
  
Ulmo was the lord of the waters.  
  
And a teaser of next chapter: I must have been six, perhaps seven, years old when Elrohir told me I was ugly. True, at that time in my life I had been quite vain. Who would not have been? I was a child, and so often told of my superior appearance that it was to me a fact: I was beautiful. . . . 


	2. Greet the brand new day

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places thereof  
  
*****  
  
I must have been six, perhaps seven, years old when Elrohir told me I was ugly. True, at that time in my life I had been quite vain. Who would not have been? I was a child, and so often told of my superior appearance that it was to me a fact: I was beautiful. Then one day, when I was waiting with the twins my brothers for our friend--for I did think of him as "our" friend--Legolas to arrive, Elrohir tried to shoo me away. "Arwen, why do you not go and play with your doll?" he suggested.  
  
"I want to greet Legolas when he arrives," I replied. "He is my friend, too."  
  
"Arwen, I do not think he wishes to greet you," Elrohir replied, not trying to sound cruel but certainly achieving it. The idea that Legolas did not enjoy my company was new to me. Though he was far closer in age to my brothers, he was always very kind to me and spoke to me as though I were an adult, which at the time I quite considered myself to be. I had known him for all of my years, and for all of my years he had behaved in the same manner towards me. The idea of this as a falsity appalled me. "He is our friend, Elladan's and mine, not yours."  
  
"He is so!" I shouted at my brother. "He wants to greet me because he is my friend! He is not your friend. Who would want to be friends with a smelly goblin like you?" Do not think that I am as I was then--my fit of temper ashamed me for many years until I accepted that the person I was then had gone. At my remark, Elrohir looked startled, then returned, "Who would want to be friends with a stupid, ugly chit like you?" In hardly three minutes, my brother had forced me to consider two things I had never even thought of before: that Legolas disliked me, and that I was ugly. Things might have gone differently if I had responded equally, by insulting Elrohir or denying his accusation, but instead I burst into tears and ran away.  
  
"Elrohir!" exclaimed Elladan, turning angrily to his twin. "Why did you do that? She is only a child, Elrohir. You were far too harsh, that was certainly not necessary."  
  
"I only want the best of happiness for our little sister," Elrohir replied, "but Elladan, I could not stand to have her here so constantly. Do you not tire of her? And besides that, a lesson in humility will not do her badly." Elladan was displeased with this answer, but said nothing.  
  
I ran out of the house and to the gardens, my stubby legs moving as fast as they could as I made my way to the pond in the gardens. Once there, I knelt on the rocks that entered the water at a diagonal, sniffling, and watched the ripples grow in the water as my tears fell. My pond was the lower pond, hidden behind a larger one, and because of the abrupt end of the two upper shelves the water entered my pond via two small waterfalls. Lilies were in abundance on the water, floating on their waxy leaf-like lilypads. The blooming flowers were white, sometimes hued with purples, quite blissful little things. Frogs would hide among the lilies and croak, and koi swam about, flashing gobs of red, orange, black, white, and grey. The pond was most magical at night--but that is unrelated, for the time being.  
  
I sat on the rock and cried. At one point, because I had to know, I leaned over the edge and saw my reflection in the water. My eyes were Elrohir was right; I was hideous! With a sob I hid my face in my hands, thinking that because I was ugly my life would be lonely, and would end when I died of heartbreak, because no one wanted me at all.  
  
As I was hiding I heard a sound of footsteps, as though one had hopped, then some splashing, and I knew someone was looking for me. The splashing was a giveaway--my little refuge could only be accessed by crossing a trickling little stream. I drew closer to the rocks, as if this would make me invisible. I did not want to go back to the house and act "like a lady". For the first time, I did not want to sit up straight and quiet and be seen but not heard, and I was willing to fight against those regulations. If I was an ugly, stupid, annoying little girl, well, the prospect made me a different person. To my surprise and near disappointment, I did not hear any command or scolding. I heard the sounds of a person settling down and I felt a warm hand on my back.  
  
"Hello there, Little Evenstar." Even as a youth, people called me "Evenstar". It always made me feel as though something great was expected of me, something above average, something undeliverable. Coming from Legolas, it made me feel like I was special. "I was hoping you would be waiting for me, and when I saw that you were not, I sought you out. Hopefully I do not invade your privacy too much?"  
  
"Go away!" I told him. "Leave me alone!"  
  
"But why, Little Star? What did I do?"  
  
"Nothing. You are Elladan and Elrohir's friend, not my friend! Go be with them."  
  
"I am your friend, Arwen," he said, his voice tinged with slight insult.  
  
"No one wants to be friends with a stupid, ugly little twerp," I said sadly, because I truly wanted Legolas to be my friend. "And do not say that is untrue, because it is true, Elrohir told me so. I am stupid and ugly and everyone hates me, and no one will ever want to be around me or marry me and I will spend all of forever all alone!"  
  
"He said all of that?" asked Legolas, lifting me onto his lap and hugging me. "Well, may it be that Elrohir is a rotten liar? We all say things we do not mean, Arwen. Elrohir said something he did not mean. You are not going to spend all eternity alone, why, you have a family right here that loves you very much. You have your ada, and your naneth, and both of your brothers, and all of them love you--even Elrohir."  
  
"But I will still never find an Elf to marry," I replied, not yet ready to stop sniveling.  
  
"Even easier," said Legolas. "Some day, Arwen, I am going to marry you."  
  
To be honest, I never thought he would. But I did not exactly think that he was bluffing, either. While I did not expect Legolas to marry me, or even to love me in that sense, I never expected him to abandon me, and he never did. He was infinitely patient, someone who would always listen, but also playful. He was a third brother to me, but one I never fought with because he was hardly ever in Imladris, and I never at all in Mirkwood--Greenwood, as it was known then. Actually, that is not true. The reason I knew the value of my friendship was Legolas was that I lost it once. But before you can understand that story, you must understand about what happened the year I turned eleven.  
  
Legolas came to visit us shortly after the incident at the lake. He had not sent any word ahead, and would later explain that he had left in a hurry after a stupid fight with his father, for which he would apologize when his anger cooled. Into Imladris he rode, looking a bit the worse for wear. Naneth and I were out in the garden, weeding the flower garden. She called it "flowering the weed garden", because when I was young I would love the flowers so much I would pluck them all from the ground, leaving nothing but weeds. Just as Legolas jumped to the ground I spotted him, and hurried to my feet, shouting, "Legolas, Legolas!" as I bolted over to him.  
  
"Good to see you too, my Little Star," he said, twirling me in the air and smiling. "Have you been well?"  
  
"Yes, and have you?" I answered politely.  
  
"Yes."  
  
Just then Naneth approached us, saying, "Good morrow to you, Legolas. I must apologize, but I was not aware you would be coming to visit us!"  
  
"For that I am at fault," replied Legolas. "I sent no word ahead. Might I speak to Lord Elrond about it?"  
  
"Of course, come, we will find him. Arwen, please go and clean yourself up," Naneth said, first to Legolas and then to me. I was quite dirty at the time, and so it was a reasonable request, and I acquiesced. But curiosity got the better of me. Yes, I went to my room and splashed some water on my face, but I did not actually wash up. Just a splash of water, a quick rub with a towel to dry off, and I was off again, skidding to a halt outside of my father's study. The door had been left open, but I did not peek in. I flattened myself against the wall to listen.  
  
". . .understand that my showing up here is a complete breach of decorum, it is just that I have been in the wild for a time, without even my bow, and I sought refuge for a day or two. I could have gone to Lothlorien, but I was on the wrong side of the Mountains," Legolas was saying.  
  
"That is quite all right, Legolas, you are always welcome here," Ada replied.  
  
"But, I do not understand. You said there was something that it was important to discuss," Legolas half-asked.  
  
"Aye, there is, but it is not your staying here. That is, as always, both acceptable and welcome. However, I must confront you on your manner of action towards my daughter." This was a surprise not only to Legolas, but also to me. He had always been so kind to me, so like a brother. What could it be that my father was upset about? Obviously he had the same thought, because he asked. "For many years now you have maintained that you will, one day, marry her. It was one thing when she was a child, but Arwen is growing into womanhood. Your previous behaviour has been fine, but I must ask that it cease. Definitions of acceptable behaviour change as the participants grow."  
  
"I understand," Legolas replied. "It will not happen again, you have my word."  
  
'Growing into womanhood?' I made a face. In my opinion, I was very much a child. Why was Ada acting this way? I was still a little girl! Just then Legolas and Ada left the study, and I had to run not to be caught eavesdropping. For the rest of his visit, which was indeed brief, Legolas called me Arwen. No one called me Little Star ever again.  
  
Now, with all this prodding from Ada, I soon did grow to womanhood. My mien changed from one of childhood to one of a womanhood I had yet to grasp. By the time I was twelve I was painting my face and costuming myself to appear something I wished to be. It was because of this that Legolas and I fought one day in late autumn.  
  
The weather was freak that day. It was nearly winter, but the heat was just within the borders of bearable. That year, I slept perfectly through the night. I never tossed and turned, never swam at midnight--I did not swim at all. I was a budding young woman, my body beginning to curve and grow in places I had never thought about before. Many say that this stage is awful, bodies acting so oddly, but I found it wonderful. As when I was young, I was aware once more of my beauty, and not at all afraid to flaunt it. Naneth seemed a bit disappointed, and would frown when she thought I could not see, but Ada was happy enough about it. He wanted me to be a young woman, and I was acting like a young woman. What a laugh--I was not acting ladylike, I was acting coquettishly.  
  
It was late, well into the night. The temperature had dropped drastically from the daytime, but the heat had me in its grasp, and I was acting crazy because of it. Legolas, my brothers, and I sat by the hearth-fire in the library. Elladan was upset that night about a woman he had been trying to court for the past six or seven months. She had led him on, until at last, just that day, telling him that he was "sweet, but just a little boy" and she had no such interest in him. Elladan was hurt and angry, and had the language to support these both. "Like I was some. . .some. . .puppy or something," he ranted that night. "She has no right, no right to treat me that way!" Elrohir put his arm around Elladan's shoulders protectively.  
  
"No, she does not," Elrohir agreed. "Do not let it affect you, Elladan. No one should treat anyone like that, she is obviously not worth your time."  
  
"Every second spent with or thinking on that woman is a second wasted," Legolas agreed. "She is not worth your time."  
  
"Are you calling me a fool?" asked Elladan.  
  
Legolas shrugged. "Yes, I think I am. Most lovers are fools."  
  
Elladan snorted. "Thanks, Legolas."  
  
"Any time, for a friend," Legolas replied with a grin. Elladan wiped his eyes on the back of his hand and sniffed, but he was still too upset to stop crying.  
  
"The stupid whore!" Elladan wailed after a moment. Some thoughts had been chasing each other in his head, and he was ready to release them. Perhaps he could not keep them inside of him.  
  
"Elladan, hush," Elrohir said with a meaningful look in my direction. "Come on, I think you should go to bed, Elladan." Elrohir stood and hauled Elladan to his feet, saying to Legolas and I, "Good night to the both of you," as he led Elladan out of the room.  
  
"Poor Elladan. She has destroyed him," Legolas lamented.  
  
"He will recover," I said with a shrug.  
  
I could see in the flickering firelight that Legolas was disappointed with this reply, but he said nothing to that effect. "I think I shall also be going to bed now," Legolas said, and he strode out into the hall. I sat a few moments in the library, then got to my feet and headed after him.  
  
"Legolas, wait," I said, grabbing his arm as I came behind him in the corridor. "Wait, please, I should not have said that about my brother, I am sorry. It was unfeeling."  
  
"At least you realize it was wrong," Legolas told me.  
  
"Can we. . .might this stay between us?" I asked. "Elladan need not know."  
  
"No, he is upset enough without that hurt from you," Legolas agreed, "I will not tell him."  
  
"Thank you, Legolas. You are so kind to me." I was vaguely aware of the fact that I was flirting, and of the uncomfortable look on Legolas's face, but before he said anything I leaned forward, raising myself to the tips of my toes, and I kissed him.  
  
"Arwen!" he exclaimed, pushing me away. "What do you think you are doing?" I had no reply, and he went on, "Why are you acting like this? You have been so different, such a different girl from the one I used to know. She was a good person, but you. . .what are you?" Disgust was heavy in his voice.  
  
"Do not deny me," I said, and I kissed him again. Again he shoved me away, this time with such force I fell to the ground. I deserved that. Looking up at him, I sneered. "Grow up, Legolas. I am reality, this is what the real world is like. You can kid yourself as much as you like, but sooner or later you will have to face facts."  
  
"Arwen--" he started again, but a sound down the hall interrupted us.  
  
"What's going on?" Elrohir asked, coming towards us.  
  
"Nothing," I replied. "I just tripped. . .nothing is going on." With that I shoved past him and to my room, slamming the door.  
  
"Legolas?"  
  
I could not face Legolas again after that. He left the next day. Autumn passed and winter came, snow dusting the ground. I had changed again, wearing conservative clothing and keeping my face as it was naturally. I did not play in the snow that year, but sat in my room staring out the window. Sometimes I cried. I had been wrong, I realized. I had ruined the only friendship I had ever had, and it was completely my fault. That ate away at me so much that I could not enjoy the season.  
  
I do not know if Legolas had truly forgiven me or not, but he came to Imladris with an injured friend in dire need of attention. When I saw him standing outside the Halls of Healing, agitated, I left my room and raced out into the snow. Relief flooded me, and I tramped across the snow-covered ground. "Legolas!" I said, stopping in front of him. At once I realized I should have considered how I would look to him. As it was, I was wearing a loose tunic and trousers, as I had taken to over the past months. He looked at me, remnants of anger flickering in his eyes. "I. . .I. . .please forgive me. I was so stupid, I do not know why I. . .I did that. . .please."  
  
I was looking up at him then, pleading, and Legolas could have destroyed me in that moment, telling me that he did not forgive me and never would. Instead he said, "Of course I forgive you, Arwen." But things were never the same between us.  
  
*****  
  
To be continued  
  
Chit is a more polite term for a whore  
  
I don't yet have another chapter written, so no sneak-peak this time. I'm going on vacation tomorrow, so may be able to post early then or in another week or so. (Sorry, believe me, I'd rather stay home) 


	3. The sun is up, the sky is blue

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any recognizable characters and/or places thereof  
  
*****  
  
I focused on the spider crawling across the wall. It was of a deep brown colouration, and moved so strangely--but then, any creature having eight legs would move quite differently from the perspective of one with only two. It was walking along the wall only a few centimeters above the floor, and as I watched it move with it's odd, staccato leg-placement, imagined I could hear a small click every time it set one foot (have they feet?) upon my wall. The world was spinning, everything drifting away from the spider. I felt my eyes half-close, for I knew what was coming upon me and for once welcomed it. At the last second I felt a sharp tug at the back of my head.  
  
"Nana, I want to wear my hair down today," I decided of the sudden, sitting perfectly still as Nana brushed back my hair and pinned it up in a stiff knot. "It itches, Nana!" Nana only laughed, for I always made a fuss of having my hair pinned back and pulled up. Many seasons passed before I grew out of this, although I cannot account for the reasoning: it was certainly much hotter with a heavy black curtain over my back and shoulders. Despite my half-hearted protests, Nana finished the job of pulling back my hair and kissed the top of my head.  
  
"There now, this is not so terrible, is it Arwen?" she asked.  
  
"No, Nana!" I replied, spinning around and embracing her tightly. She was not expecting this, and it was a moment before she returned the gesture.  
  
"Thank you, Arwen," she said. "Now come, before your father and brothers awake." I giggled as she took my hand and led me out of the room. We tiptoed quietly down the corridor, though this was completely unnecessary and, I would later learn, illogical. It was the first day of autumn, and I was thirteen years old. The sun's glory had not yet kissed our little valley, but in spite of this the hairs rose on the back of my neck, a forewarning of the heat to come. Birds sang, and as we crept down the hall I shook the sleep from my head as one cleans the cobwebs from a dusty room's ceiling. Every year, every first day of autumn, Nana and I had held this ritual. Until that year, I never thought to inquire as to the origins of our ceremony.  
  
We reached the kitchen without awaking anyone, and Nana produced an apron for me and one for her, clean white linen. That would not last very long! Her own golden tresses had been tied into a bunch at the nape of her neck, and she tied the apron strings just below the end of her hair. It is in this manner that I prefer to remember my mother: creamy white elbows exposed, arms bent behind her head as she worked, smiling with her lips and with her bright blue eyes. Nana did not need help with such things as like tying on an apron, but I did. As soon as she was finished with her own apron I turned, holding out the strings to her, and she tied a deft knot. "Ouch, Nana, not my hair!" I cried, although she had hardly tugged on a few strands before realizing her mistake.  
  
"Ready, Arwen?" she asked, spinning me around to face her.  
  
I grinned. "Ready, Nana!"  
  
"You know what to do, Arwen," Nana said. "The flour and the water, eggs, butter, milk, yeast, salt, and sugar."  
  
"I know, Nana, I have been helping you for years and years," I replied good- naturedly as I hurried to gather the materials we would use to bake our bread. Why did we choose bread, and why on the same day? I cannot say. This is simply the way things were. It was not worth it to ask questions, and anyway, I did not care much for reasons, not then at any rate. Most of the ingredients could be found within the kitchen or pantry, only the water would be collected from the freshwater spring nearby. Nana and I always used spring water in our bread. As she took the first small loaves from the shelf where she had left them the night prior and unwrapped the wet cloths with which they had been kept fresh, I took two wooden buckets from the countertop and went to collect the water.  
  
It was a brilliant day, and the sun had yet to arise! The trees were so vibrantly green, a few birds trilling brilliantly in the trees, a bullfrog croaking somewhere and a cricket chirping. A thin mist hovered in the forest, blanketing the tree-trunks and muffling the spirit-voices. At this time I believed in spirits, and believed that they roamed the forests when we slept. I stopped to listen to the stream-song as I tied my skirts up around my knees. This was indecent, but there were no men around to see and I surely considered myself a child still. As I knelt beside the spring, I marveled at the grey-blue predawn sky. Not a star was visible, yet there was light. The waning moon was just fading, though not below the horizon. So distracted was I that I plunged the bucket right to the bottom of the spring, dislodging a number of smoothed-over rocks and submerging my hands in the freezing water. Perhaps not quite freezing, but at the least quite cold! With a gasp I drew out, and set the nearly full bucket by the side of the stream. I was more careful filling the second bucket.  
  
The buckets were far heavier on my way back to the kitchen, and while I had trotted to the stream I walked slowly back, for the weight and also because I did not wish to spill any of the sharp, sweet water. My feet were bare and because I was going slowly I felt the wet grass stalks bend beneath my feet, though they did not break. Grass stalks are amazingly resilient, as I well knew, and could be stepped on even by heavy boots and not break at all. The air was surprisingly chill just then, as days may be before their heat settles. Imladris was warm that year, but very early in the mornings the water was terribly cold and the wind so crisp! It is one of the most intense beauties I have ever known. I might have realized this then, but had not the wisdom, though I felt it wriggling just in the back of my mind. Pathetic as I was, without having been told to do so I would not likely notice my surroundings or appreciate them. Then the door opened and there stood Nana. "Come on, Arwen," she called. "Are the buckets too heavy?"  
  
"I can manage, Nana," I replied, and hurried indoors. The kitchen had grown warmer in my absence; Nana had started the bread-ovens warming. Soon the room would smell of the first new loaves, our breakfast. But for the time being, it smelled of eggshells and pleasant burning and fresh water and flour and a hundred things I shall never name. The buckets I replaced on the countertop, noting the many herbs and spices lined along beside the flour. "What is all of this, Nana?"  
  
"Oh, just things I thought we might test," she said. "Look Arwen, cinnamon. How do you fancy that would taste in your bread?" She went on to name the other oddments, to which I respectively made faces and felt my mouth water. "So, what do you think, Arwen? What shall it be?"  
  
"I think, Nana," I said slyly, that we should bake some bread!"  
  
"Let us do it, then!" she replied just as over-enthusiastically, and we began. For nearly an hour we mixed, stirred, poured, measured, and generally made our dough until we were both aching and covered with flour. It was a lucky thing we were wearing aprons then! By this time we had a fair amount of dough made; one batch of it with cinnamon in, another using rosemary and olive oil, although I had protested that olive oil would make the bread far too slippery, and so on. By now the kitchen smelled of those hundred unnamable scents, as well as freshly baked bread, dough, and-- "Honey!" I exclaimed.  
  
Nana laughed. "Well, that certainly ruins the surprise!" She knelt and opened the oven. Hot air billowed into the room. Then Nana took out the newly-baked rolls and quenched the fire, leaving but a few smoldering embers. As she did so, tossing the rolls into her apron, I covered our various bowls of dough with damp cloths. Nana took a dry square of flannel and dropped the rolls onto this, shaking out her skirts and apron. Then she plucked up the four corners of the flannel and tied them into a neat little sack. "Shall we go outside to eat, or remain within?"  
  
"Ai, Nana!" I cried. "It burns within, let us go out to the dewy grass and have our breakfast," I decided, and so we did.  
  
We settled down beside each other. Nana untied the bundle of rolls, leaving them sitting between us. She had shaped the rolls perfectly, and now their round tops were golden and I longed to eat one. I felt Nana watching me, felt her smile knowingly, as I reached out and took up a roll. It was too hot for me to hold for very long, but I was quick in taking the first bite, then dropped the bread to my lap, where it heated my legs through my skirts. The steam felt good against my face for that brief moment, and made the world smell of honey and, of course, newly baked bread. I rubbed the crumbs from my fingers, slightly sticky from the honey, and said through a half-full mouth, "Nana, did you and Grandmother bake bread together every autumn, when you were small?"  
  
"Hm." Nana tested the rolls lightly, found them too hot yet and replied, "Nana and I were very close, but it was rare that we cooked together. No, this is my own ritual. I suppose it feels good, for once, not being a Lady and actually seeing the results of my work."  
  
"Does it not bother you that I am here, also?" I asked, taking a large bite of bread. It had been fully cooked, luckily, for I should have hated too bite into a lump of raw dough. Newly baked bread takes a time to harden, and now was as a forest of threads, very fragile threads. The effects of this were somewhat ruined by the churning in my stomach. Suddenly I felt as though I was imposing upon something private and very important.  
  
But Nana shook her head. "It means very much for me to be able to share this with you, my daughter. When I was young. . .Nana and Ada had so much history between them. They had seen darker days, days they did not wish for me to feel the burden of. They loved me very much, but wanted to protect me from far too much. One reason I married your Ada--aside from the fact that I love him and could not imagine spending my life with another--is that he never kept anything from me. He wanted me to know everything he knew, he wanted to talk to me about important things and for me to understand them. At this time I was only just considered an adult in the years of the Elves and. . .he opened the world to me. When I look back, it is amazing how little I truly knew."  
  
"Did you love your parents, Nana?" I asked then. "Were you very close with Grandmother?" Whenever my grandparents came to visit, my mother was enthusiastic and warm with them. It had never occurred to me to ask whether she had ever been less so; for me, things were as they were and always would be. My world, I realized then, was as limited as the one Nana had just described to me.  
  
"Always," replied Nana at once. "Although at times not by choice. I never dared keep a secret from her, least she find out--and she would. I knew of her mirror, and deemed it better to tell than to have things seen." She took a roll from the flannel cloth and began to eat, but her mind was elsewhere. "Despite this, I always harbored a deep love for my parents. My memories of them are all fond."  
  
"Nana. . .did Elladan and Elrohir ever. . .that is. . .when they were my age. . .when. . .before I was born. . .Did Elladan and Elrohir bake bread with you?"  
  
"They were not interested," she replied. "They would sometimes wish to be around me, but Elrohir only sat about on the counter, never helping or being at all interested, though he tried to pretend he was. Elladan cared more about eating the ingredients." She laughed. "No, they never helped me bake my autumn bread. You are my bread-heir, Arwen, and must always bake this bread!" Now she was joking, but my word was given to her that day, and though for many years alone I would have dough, misshapen loaves I would bake every autumn with fresh water from a stream and cinnamon to flavor a few special loaves. "You know you are special to me, Arwen," she said quietly, as though afraid, and I realized then that in my recent attempts for independence--as all youths have, upon occasion--I had been pushing her away.  
  
I looked at her, my chin quivering. I was so sorry, but words seemed insufficient to express this at all. My eyes grew large and it was all I could do to keep from crying. At last I submitted, tears breaking as I threw myself at her, wrapping my arms around her with a shout of, "Nana!" Once the crying had begun, the words came and would not stop. "I love you Nana, really I do, you know that, do you not, Nana? I truly love you, truly, please never think different, please!" As I sobbed this she put her arms around me and rubbed my back and drew me into her lap. Nana held me until there were no tears left to cry.  
  
"Here now," she said. "Sure I know it, Arwen. Do you want to go back to bed for a bit?" I was grateful for her knowledge of the exhaustion of crying fits, but I shook my head.  
  
"Nana, there is bread to bake," I replied.  
  
Half of an hour had passed. The sun was close to the horizon, but the valley was bright and boiling with the day's heat. Nana and I remained in the kitchen as our bread baked. Now I heard voices calling, and faces appeared by the window. It was my brothers! "Hello!" I told them brightly, pointedly enjoying another of the honey-dough rolls. "Good morrow to you, boys!"  
  
"Good morrow, and good bread!" replied Elladan.  
  
"Oh, aye indeed!" I said, displaying my honey-dough roll for them to see.  
  
"Would there by any chance be some of those to spare?" asked my brother.  
  
"Yes, Nana and I made enough for Ada and Glorfindel, as well," I replied, which was not a lie so much as an omission of certain aspects of the truth. We had made enough for Ada and Glorfindel, but also for the twins. "There were two more, though. . .Who do you suppose they were for?"  
  
"Iluvatar only knows," replied Elrohir with a wry grin. At this point I handed to them the two rolls, saying, "They are best just out of the oven. Too bad you slept through that, sleepy-heads!"  
  
"I would take my sleep any day," replied Elrohir. "Thank you Arwen!" Said the twins in perfect synchronization, and they waved as they headed off to spar.  
  
"You're welcome!" I called after them, cleaning my hands on my flour- spotted apron. Returning to the bread-ovens, I helped Nana take out the last of our cinnamon bread. As usual, the loaves were perfectly formed and evenly risen. "How do you do it, Nana?" I asked. "How is your bread so perfectly. . .perfect?"  
  
"Practice makes perfect, I suppose," she said, to which I wrinkled my nose.  
  
"I practice sewing every day, and I am no good at it," I replied. We laughed.  
  
"Perhaps we all have our talents and quirks. I bake bread. Your Ada is a natural-born diplomat. The boys have each their own skills, as you have duly noted."  
  
"What about me?" I asked.  
  
"You have yet to show where your spirit dwells," Nana replied. "But never fear, for soon we shall know."  
  
After that I went out for a wander. My head was a little dizzy from the warmth within the kitchen, and I splashed cold water from the stream on my face to clear my mind. The mist had burned away from the trees and different birds sang now: not more or less, simply different. I did not notice that my skirts were tied around my knees still or that my hair had come free and was hanging limply around my shoulders. My entire being was awash in sweat.  
  
The day was young, but my muscles ached from heat and the mixing and kneading. Listlessly I wandered about, not having any particular destination, but enjoying the clearing of my muddled up head with the fresh air. Yet when I rounded a corner, I saw Ada walking with an easily recognized figure. She must have arrived that morning for Nana and I not to have known of her presence. "Grandmother!" I cried, my energy returning in my excitement. "Grandmother!" By this time I was running towards her, the last of my hair slipping free and flying out behind me. I rushed to her and swung my arms around her neck, holding her tightly although I was far too small for this to have the full effects of a proper hug.  
  
"Arwen!" she exclaimed in surprise. "How wonderful to see you again, child." When I drew back she looked at me as though seeing me for the first time, and this is how I felt towards her also. Never before had I seen her as such a similar form to my mother, yet there were those golden tresses, those sparkling blue eyes. It was a strange sensation, seeing my Nana and Grandmother as actual people. The flour from my apron was now all over Grandmother's clothes, and I bit my lip to keep from laughing at this.  
  
Having heard my cries, Nana came out as well, wiping her hands on her apron. "Naneth!" she exclaimed. "Forgive my appearance, your arrival was unexpected."  
  
"You look as I have always thought you ought," replied Grandmother, and she and Nana kissed each other once on either cheek. I never understood their relationship, but I saw the resemblance between the two woman, the closeness, the way they might have been sisters. Such was the manner of Elves, that my unkempt, flour-swept Nana should be so akin to my neat and tidy grandmother. I smiled, feeling myself the next link in a very special chain.  
  
*****  
  
To be continued  
  
Arwen's strange sensation at the beginning will be explained later, probably next chapter. Remember, good readers review! 


	4. It's beautiful, and so are you

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places thereof.

Author's note: Apologies, my beta reader is unable to edit this over Rosh Hashanah, so it has been self-edited. If there are any errors please note them and I will fix them as soon as possible. Thanks!

*****

I tilted my head to the left, watching as flashes of colour appeared in the window. The colours were not real colours; that is to say, they would be difficult to name, although they were certainly there and were certainly colours. Slowly I moved my head to the left, then again to the right but too far: the setting sun intruded upon my vision and at once I recoiled, snapping shut my eyes. When next I looked, the colours were there, but as I moved to change them I took many cares, and a purple circle floated just off to the side of my vision.

It occurred to me then to wonder where the web had come from. Was it the same spider I had watched crawling across the wall near the floorboards earlier that same week, or a different one? Where was this spider now? It might be anywhere, it might be poisonous. This probably should have worried me.

I took the stone tiles from the leather pouch hanging from the bedpost and scattered them across the floor. I chose six tiles and placed then in a line, each one displaying a letter carved into the stone. These stones were each about the size of my eye, and not very heavy on their own, but with enough together their weight was significant. I spelled _tear_ and _tears_ and _rates_ and _sat_ and _eat_ and _tat_ (which I supposed was a word) before finding a word that used up all six of my letters: _treats_. Then, because I was only one letter short of it, another word came to mind: _shatter_. Many words, I realized, have strong connotations.

__

Shatter

Frenzy

They were strong words. These were not big words that felt heavy on your tongue, not _acrylic_ or _quintessential_ or _effervescence_, not words Ada knew but I did not, but words that were not to be bothered. They could stand alone and not be afraid. I spelled them all, arranging my tiles to speak the words too grand for me. They were harsh, their edges rough. I enjoyed them, toying and playing, but would not draw them from my own mouth into average conversations. I did not know the danger of these toys.

Crazed, I spelled, and _Deranged. Demented_, the tiles said, _Perturbed. _My words had begun, as I now realized, violent and uncontrolled. Now they were states of mental negativity. How had that happened? The insanity words, they were strong, but of a different strength. This strength came from a dark and frightening place, a place that cannot be described but can no more be described. The colors on the spider's web.

"Arwen?" It was Elladan, knocking on my door, calling my name.

"What is it?" I asked. "Come in." Hastily, I swept up my tiles. There was no need for him to see those words. In looking up I realized that the sun had long set. It was dark in the room and in the world outside, and seeing was difficult. I could hardly discern the web-threads in the window.

"Arwen!" Elladan exclaimed upon seeing me. "You are not even dressed yet, and Adar and Naneth expect you to be present for the festivities--" He did not stop talking, but I stopped listening. "The festivities." I had forgotten. A holy day, of course. Normally the hours of feasting, tale-telling and dancing did not bother me, quite the contrary I enjoyed them, but that particular night I did not wish to attend. Elladan finished speaking and I nodded, then he left.

I did not don my gown even then. It hung over the mirror on a wooden hanger, and it was beautiful. The entire thing was blue, the sort of forever blue of the mid-afternoon sky, and over the skirt was a second skirt, a loose layer of blue lace sewn with silver stars. It was one a beautiful dress, I do not deny this. Nana and I had spent many hours crafting the garment, careful with our stitches, making it perfect,. I poured my heart and soul into that dress, but it was not mine. It would have looked terrible on me, and I would have felt amiss in it. Instead of putting it on despite this as a good girl ought, I sat on my bed in my knee-length under-dress and knee-length stockings (funny, how everything was knee-length) and stared at it.

I remember now the conversation I would hear, later.

"Mother?" Mother? Am I calling my mother? No, no, that was Celebrían speaking.

"Yes, Celebrían?" She speaks gently, as though she is afraid o hurting something or someone with loud words.

"Mother, please, I do not know what to do. I never thought. Oh, Eru, I thought she was so **happy**, I never would have dreamed. . ." Why is Nana crying?

"This was not of your crafting, Celebrían." Again she speaks gently. What happened? I wonder. Why are they so upset?

I went to the feast in a white blouse and a light purple skirt. They were very plain clothes. I enjoyed wearing them. Nana and Ada looked at me oddly, then at each other, asking silent questions, but they did not ask me their questions. I know, now, what they asked each other: where is Arwen's blue dress? I thought she loved the blue dress. Smiling sweetly, I held my hands behind my back and felt a drop of blood fall from the cut on my wrist. It was, in my defense, accidental.

"Mother thinks that because of the talk that will surely come of this. . .she thinks it would be best," Nana begins, but she stops. I am standing near the door. I am listening, but I do not mean to eavesdrop. I was looking for my nana. 

"My mother will take her to Lothlorien, Elrond," Nana finished in a hurry. She was scared, scared of my ada. That was odd.

"Wh--" This is all he manages. It might have been 'why' or 'what', I am not sure because Nana interrupted.

"And frankly, I agree. She is not safe unattended, and we cannot watch her every minute!" Who? There were, at the time, few significant female figures in my life, and I did not know whom they spoke of.

"Celebrían," Ada said at last, his voice carefully measured but shaking at the same time. Everyone sounded angry and sad. "You are asking me to tell my daughter farewell and send her on her way without so much as inquiring her preference." Oh, they were talking about me.

"It does not matter her preference! She is in no state to decide what is best for her," Mother was practically wailing.

"The fact is, Lord Elrond--" Grandmother was speaking now, I had not known she was there "--that there may be something seriously amiss with the child."

Ada scoffed. "Do you hear this, Celebrían? Are you agreeing with this woman? Do you not hear a word she is saying? Arwen is not defected, Lady _Galadriel." Later I would feel a tender love for my father. He argued my defense, after everything._

"Oh, no?--"

Legolas was there, he was standing off to the side of the room with my brothers. They were talking in hushed voices and drinking wine. I could hear what they were saying but remember none of it. It seems highly irrelevant. Grandmother was there, also, and she looked strangely at me, sharply, and in that moment I felt my mind go cold and could think of nothing but the sea, which was odd because I had never seen the sea. Everyone seemed to be. . .regarding me. It was truly strange that they would do this, for they knew me, a fair number of them saw me every day, or overlooked me every day. Why were they staring?

Grandmother was angry now, and she was speaking in a dangerous tone. Why did she hold such low respect for Ada? They never got along very well. "You did not see this coming, Elrond, you were unaware of the danger she was in--and right in front of your eyes, as well. In the forest of Lothlorien I can look after her. Do you not want what is best for her?"

"Here, at home, with her parents, Arwen has what is best for her." I should not have been listening to this, I should have gone away, and I knew it. But I stayed and listened.

"Indeed? Celebrían and I--"

"Don't involve her in this!"

"She is a part of this!"

There was a shout then, a strangled sob of a cry. "Stop!" It was Nana. Why were they doing this to her? "Please, stop." She was calmer when she said this. "Naneth, Elrond, please, you are acting irrationally. We are civilized, we will talk this through." But she was speaking from another time. When? What had happened to Nana that made her so upset?

"You are right. I apologize, Celebrían," Ada said. I went back to bed.

I felt strange that night. I could not smile, my insides were twisting and writhing. Seeing so many people around me, all of them grinning or laughing and talking merrily, feasting, dancing. . .it was difficult. I tried to talk to my brothers and Legolas. They tolerated me. Elladan told a joke, but I did not understand it, perhaps because I could not understand a word of it. That is, I understood them, but the words left my head so quickly that I could not string them together into a clause, certainly not into a joke. It involved Dwarves, probably, Elladan knew a lot of bad joked about Dwarves. 

I asked Nana if it would be all right if I left the celebration. I was tired, I told her. She did not hear me; she was watching her mother dancing. She was dancing with Glorfindel. On any other day this would have amused me. On that night everything seemed to be part of another world, a world in which I was an exile: a world of which I was not a part. "I am going to bed, Nana," I said loudly, but she did not hear me even then. I went to bed.

There is a poem, and it reads as follows:

Blessed be our journey's end

No further message home to send.

Blessed be our beds at night

Rest us from this and tomorrow's fight.

Valar see the one I love? Can you?

Promise me you will see him through.

Pray thee keep him from ills and harms,

Return him safe into my arms.

You there, you, the boy beside me,

Is in the sky a star to guide thee?

Who waits for your return to home,

By horse or foot or 'top sea-foam?

Blessed be he by my side,

Who fell in battle rather than hide,

Blessed must I be,

It must be the Valar that guide me,

For home finds me well,

When upon the field Death rose in her swell.

The pattern breaks near the end. I do not remember where I first read that poem. 

My eyes flashed open, and this is how I know that I was not asleep. Also because when you sleep there are dreams and I did not dream. Although it felt as though an eternity had passed, Grandmother would later tell me that only a matter of minutes had gone by. The room was filled with shadows, and I lifted my head form the pillow to see better. Dark patches stretched out across the floor, and I thought I might drown in one if I was not very careful.

"You cannot ignore what she has done, Elrond!" Grandmother shouted. I was kneeling at the head of the stairs. Though I could not see Grandmother and Ada, I could see their shadows, flickering and huge in the firelight, reflected on the opposite wall. Both were angry; both were shouting. Neither realized this. Ada had given Nana a tea to help her sleep because she was upset. I wish she had not been so upset.

"What has she done, Galadriel?" They were not using titles or even attempting to pretend to be decent towards each other. "In your eyes, what is this but an opportunity to steal my child from me?"

"You know I do not intend to steal your child, Elrond, but I worry for her safety. Clearly something here in Imladris is affecting her badly!" I felt bad for making them shout, that had not been intentional. "And to answer you question, Elrond: Violated the values of Elven custom, perhaps! That child is sick, she needs help!"

"This is my child you are speaking of, Galadriel. I advise you to watch what you say of her."

"She is my granddaughter, Elrond. You act as though I do not care for her!"

"You speak as though you do!"

"Adar! Adar, Grandmother, you must stop shouting!" Was that--no, it could not be Nana. It was Elrohir, and his voice was a low hiss. "Half of Imladris can hear you and not all of us have taken herbs that cause your feuding to fall on deaf ears. Arwen at least will hear you; Glorfindel and Erestor, Legolas. . .everyone! This is a family matter!" For the first time I considered Elrohir, and realized that he was ashamed of me, of what I had done. How did he think of me? Was I still his sister?

"Arwen." The voice surprised me. Elladan touched my shoulder lightly; he was behind me, keeping low. "Come on, you should be in bed." He lifted me into his arms, though I was too old for that, and carried me down the hall.

"Are you ashamed of me, Elladan?" I asked him.

"I love you," he replied. "And I am not ashamed."

When I stood the room tilted and spun and I fell back onto the bed, but I got up again as though with an important task to complete. I did not hear the door open, but I know it did. I walked across the room and rested my hands on the windowsill, watched the night in a dream state. The trees were obsidian arrowheads, swaying gently in the breeze, moving as one, as the waters in the stream. "Arwen." She said my name. She was standing beside me but I was not aware of her. With shaking feet I stood on the windowsill, braced my hands against the wall on either side. An owl cried and flew into the night. And I followed him.

"Grandmother? Grandmother, what happened? What happened to my sister?" It was Elladan, frantic. He stood in the doorway, watching as Grandmother held me. I. . .I was fighting her. Why was I fighting her?

"Go and fetch your parents, please, Elladan," she said calmly, as though nothing had happened. She was speaking to him as though he was only a child and he did not like that.

"What happened to her, Grandmother?" Elladan demanded. He was angry with her for speaking to him as though he was a child and he was worried, concerned for my sake.

"Elladan, go and fetch--"

Elladan appealed to me instead. "Arwen? Arwen, what happened? Are you all right?"

"Elladan!"

And though it must have been later I was not aware of the time passing.

"Sweet Iluvatar. Galadriel, what happened?"

"Mother?"

I was lying on the bed and they were there, too, looking at me, stroking me, holding me. I was dazed. What was happening? What had happened? Where was the barn owl? Why was my face wet? Because I was crying. Why was I crying?

"It's all right, Arwen, hush, it is all right." Was I making noise?

"No, Elrond, I am afraid it is not all right." About this time I realized that the spider's web was no longer in the window, but had adhered to my fingers as though a fly, and I the web.

This I am certain came later, for I can account for the time between. Elladan was left with me, Elladan and Elrohir. When Elladan brought Ada and Nana back to my room he also brought Elrohir. Legolas came, too, but was asked to leave and was too polite to refuse this. Grandmother went into the corridor and spoke with my parents in hushed voices. Then came the question I could not possibly answer: "Why, Arwen? Why would you do such a thing?"

I was sitting up now, unable to stop myself from crying. Elladan was holding me and I was leaning against his chest, feeling secure in the protection of my elder brother. When the question came I clung to him, gripping his tunic as though in fear.

"Why, Arwen? What were you feeling that you thought this measure necessary?"

And I answered him as plainly as I possibly could manage: My emotions are the spider's web.

*****

To be continued

All right, I know the style was a bit strange. For those of you who do not remember what it feels like to be thirteen years old, that is what it feels like, at least to me. The style in the rest of this is meant to show Arwen's memories as from an adult recalling her child's eyes. This chapter, she is wrapped up in a time she can hardly remember except in these unorganized flashes. The rest of the story will be written in a more similar manner to the earlier chapters.

As to the holy day they were observing, I have no idea what it was. There most likely isn't even an Elven holy day around that time. I apologize for the incongruity. 

Concerning Galadriel and Elrond: Galadriel, in her youth, was a part of the rebellion of Feanor. That rebellion resulted in the 'death' of Elrond's mother, Lady Elwing. (to be technical, Ulmo turned her into a bird, but Elrond never saw her again) Because of this, it seems to me unlikely that Elrond would harbor terribly warm feelings for Galadriel, despite their political unions.

Reviews appreciated, flames are not!


	5. Won't you come out to play

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places thereof  
  
Author's note: Ai! I've only just realized. . .I thought Amroth was lost to sea in the Second Age, but it was the Third Age! Please forgive me this. I'll not be making that mistake again.  
  
*****  
  
What is the name. . .? I never can recall. A tree grows pods which, in the autumn, are hard and brittle. A blowing wind may rattle these pods, shaking them that they touch one another and cause a great noise, as an unrestful spirit wandering the world that should be retired to the Halls of Mandos, but for no known reason is not. The clatter of one pod 'gainst another is made especially frightening when one hides beneath the tree, a hard-learned lesson of mine.  
  
One autumn, when the sky had clouded and the weather was cold, I rested my chin on my fist and daydreamed, staring out the window. I was ten years old. Where had summer gone? In what seemed a snap of a finger, the long, hot days had passed, and no more did the sun climb higher and higher into the sky but wandered listlessly in a prison of clouds, unable to do its natural job of brining light and heat and happiness. Had I been more perceptive, I might have noted the chill creeping into the nighttime air, or the hint of crispness in the evenings. But what child bothers with perception when there are trees to climb, fish to catch and duties to shirk? No, autumn had crept upon me, and I was indignant.  
  
". . .of Numenor, at this time was whom? Arwen!"  
  
"What?" I asked, snapping out of my trance and shaking my head. Glorfindel, who had been attempting to tutor me in the history of my world--a valiant and vain effort from a valiant and vain Elf (some time I must recount why I thought of him in this manner, 'tis a humourous tale indeed)--sighed and informed me, "No matter how I teach, Arwen, if you are not present in your mind you will not learn it. Shall we try this once more?"  
  
I toyed with answering him honestly "No", for I had no intention of paying attention, not on possibly one of the last dry days of what looked to be a rather wet season. "Yes, Glorfindel, I will try harder, truly," I lied, faking an innocent look. After all, listening to Glorfindel drone on would be considerably easier than listening to my father "talk to me" about the value of knowledge. I loved my father, but his idea of "to" really meant "at", and who could focus on such a day? Childhood is more important than knowledge, for, at least in my opinion, wisdom and memory serve one better than knowledge. Or so I thought at the time, and still mostly believe: but then, I am a woman. Power is given unequally to me as to a man.  
  
The question of whether or not women should have as equal power as men at one time was much simpler. As a child, including but not limited to the day when Glorfindel failed to teach me history, it seemed that things simply were this way, and there must be a reason, and who was I to question tradition? My grandmother Galadriel would teach me to think otherwise, she would lead me to make disturbing conclusions about leaders and women throughout history (more successfully than Glorfindel) and indeed my own family. But as those days had yet to come, I had yet to concern myself with such matters. Ignorance, as they say, is bliss. It is a pleasure of childhood, when we may regret learning and knowledge: as I grow, I come to accept knowledge over ignorance.  
  
But on that day, the sudden interruption of my brother Elrohir was more than welcome. "Elrohir!" I cried, having turned upon hearing the door open. "Elrohir, you are home!" I shot from my chair and hugged my brother fiercely. "Are you here to stay for the winter?" Elladan and Elrohir spent much time out of Imladris. I often missed then and once tried to follow them. That was funny, looking back.  
  
"We will see," Elrohir replied absently, moving me aside. I was slightly offended by this, but his words to Glorfindel changed that. "Glorfindel, my father asks for you. It is very important, there are many wounded--"  
  
In moments Glorfindel and my brother were out the door, and I was torn. Here was my chance, a chance not too far past noon to break from my lessons and play out of doors, enjoy momentary freedom at the expense of tomorrow's bondage, or follow my brother and Glorfindel, learn what mystery begs Elrohir home and Glorfindel from the agony of teaching. One awaited, the other would not. I forsook a few hours' freedom and let my curiosity rule. I followed Elrohir and Glorfindel.  
  
Unnoticed I entered the Halls of Healing, and at once experienced a sensory assault. What could have happened? There must have been fifteen people, all of them wounded, some dying. Blood spilled from bodies onto the floor. This is why Glorfindel had been sent for: though a warrior, he knew something of the healing arts. The four of them, Glorfindel, Elrohir, Elladan and Ada were working as quickly as they could, but they were too few and the wounds too dire. I wanted to be sick. Blood splattered them; the room was spinning. . .I fled.  
  
Outside, I sprinted around to the back wall of the building where no one would see me and leaned against it, panting. Hands on my knees, and gasped in air. That had been frightening! So absorbed was I in my fear, it took me a moment to notice the quite sobbing sounds from nearby. When I heard, I turned to look. There sat a rather dirty girl, stringy clumps of greasy blond hair hanging around her face. She wore breeches and a tunic like a boy ought, with patched knees. "Excuse me," I said to get her attention. "Excuse me, do you belong to somebody I might help you find?"  
  
"No," she replied, looking up at me. She swiped angrily at tears obscuring her blue eyes. Her skin was tan and freckled, and her features were small in a delicate way, though her overall appearance was harsh. "All those I belong to are in there, dying." She jerked her head towards the Halls of Healing. Then, as though none of that had happened, she pushed her palms against the ground to raise herself, then wiped the dirt on her breeches. No wonder they were so tattered. Standing, she was only a little smaller than me. "I am Nevsew, of the Dunedain. A number of my people are here for healing. I am here because they took my parents."  
  
"They?" I asked, curious, rudely not offering my name.  
  
"The dark-haired ones, they are two that look alike," she explained vaguely.  
  
"Oh, you mean my brothers!" I exclaimed, and she narrowed her eyes. Sensing it was best not to continue on this topic, I ask, "Are you hurt?"  
  
"No," she replied. I came because my people were brought, not because I was brought."  
  
"I'm Arwen," I offered, dropping into a curtsy. It might have been the wrong thing to do: this hardly mattered. Though Nevsew was strange to me in her mannerisms, she was also a child, not much older than I, and it was a rare event that I should encounter such a person. She laughed and bowed to me, one hand over her heart. As she rose, I caught sight of her ears.  
  
"What is it?" she asked, seeing my shocked expression.  
  
"You-your ears! Can you hear?" I asked.  
  
"Of course I can." Pushing back her dirty locks, she offered, "They're real. You can touch them if you want to." Nervously, I ran a finger over her round ear. It was so strange! Yet she could hear, or so she said. Then, as we stood facing each other uncertain of what to say next, thunder rumbled distantly. "Iluvatar sounds just like my little baby brother," she commented, "making those noises!"  
  
For a moment I was confused, then I realized that she was joking about the thunder. "Oh! Well, I think it sounds more like my stomach when it is hungry!" I replied. For a moment Nevsew looked at me, then she laughed. She had a full laugh, not a giggle or a chuckle but a bold, unafraid burst. "Come on," I said, "I will show you my favourite place by the river." I offered my hand.  
  
Nevsew faltered and took a step back. Guessing her thoughts, I added, "We will not go far. Your parents will be safe."  
  
"With those butchers?" she asked me skeptically.  
  
"With my Ada!" I replied. She did not know the word. "My father!"  
  
After that, we went down to the river. She agreed that it was beautiful. The sun slipped out from behind a bank of clouds, and we were warmed by it. I taught Nevsew how to make a chain of those flowers, the delicate purple blossom which, if plucked in just the right place, are sticky near the bottom and will stay if slid properly, one within the other. I wove a circlet this way and placed it atop her head, and wove a similar dress for myself. We gazed upon our reflections in the water and knew we were both beauties, though she a dirty prettiness and I a pristine gem. "You are a doll, Arwen," she said to me.  
  
"What are you then, Nevsew?" I asked her.  
  
"I?" She regarded herself contemplatively. Indeed, what was she? Certainly not one of my letter-stones nor a doll, though a drop-spindle I did think of, but discarded it for her form: straight, neither of us curved. "A bear," she said at last, "like my baby brother had."  
  
"A bear?" I asked.  
  
"Not a true bear, but a cloth likeness. He slept with it in his arms night after night; after a time, the bear, though intact, showed well signs of oft usage. I am like the bear."  
  
I wanted to argue, tell her no, she was not like the bear but like. . .what? She was the bear, I realized, to my doll, for I was used only for prettiness and for gazing upon, while she served a function without being blatantly productive: Nevsew's place, she had explained to me, though this was a tacit law, was the comforter and supporter. When her father or mother felt despairingly she smiled sweetly, her cheeks dimpled and their hearts lifted. "Not that I mind," she added. "We function well as a unit."  
  
My bear and I spent over an hour more by the water, adorning ourselves with flowers and falsifying luxuries. The differences in our cultures became obvious. At last she shivered, and I asked her why. She was cold, she told me, and I asked her how that felt. Elves are unaffected by the weather. "It feels like. . ." she paused. Cold must be difficult to explain. "When it snows, and you come nearer the fire? Suddenly you are more comfortable, are you not?" I did not understand. Here a gap we could not bridge, try as we might.  
  
"It is very cold," she said at last, rubbing her arms. "We should go back now."  
  
"Of course." Such had been our gaity that I had forgotten all about her parents, lying injured in the Halls of Healing. From the look on her face, so had she. "Come, we will be swift."  
  
I took her hand and helped her to her feet, and together we began to run across the water by way of a fallen tree, and up the incline that would lead back to my home. I say 'began', for as we were part-way there a clap of thunder sounded, and the skies burst. Rain fell, wind blew, and we were caught a good run away from home. We hid beneath the first tree we found, throwing ourselves at the ground beside the trunk to keep as dry as possible. "Thank you Yavanna," I muttered, catching my breath.  
  
We huddled together for a bit, unwilling to risk the rain for eventual warmth and dryness. "Your hands are strange," I said, "not unlike the feel of my brothers'."  
  
"Yours are also strange," she said, "much like my brother's!" We laughed and opened our palms side by side. Hers were well callused, with a scar on her left. Mine were, as the rest of me, pink and white and soft. "Well," she said, "that does explain it."  
  
Just then thunder crashed, and we sprang together. As a wind sped through the valley, a terrible clattering sound arose. "What is that?" asked Nevsew, frightened.  
  
"I-I do not know," I replied, shivering. As the temperature dropped the noise rose, and we held together and shook. "Do you think we are safe here?" I asked, a ridiculous question: if safety was anywhere, it was in Imladris, besides which, I knew the land better than she.  
  
"We ought to make a run for it," she replied. "We will leave here, then run to your home as fast as we can. All right?"  
  
"All right."  
  
We went together to the edge of the covered area and grasped hands, leaning forward in preparation to run. "One. . .two. . ." Neither of us awaited three. We tore out of there as though a fire spread at our heels. The next morning, we would feel ourselves quite the silly geese when we discovered that the noise which had frightened us so was only the clack-clack-clacking of one shell against another.  
  
But it is another autumn of which I long to speak. This autumn was neither very wet nor very dry, very warm nor very cold. In fact, one might even say it was average, or even normal, if such a thing there be. A general blanket of immaculate nothingness had descended upon the valley of Imladris, bringing with it no particular feeling, nothing special. The season may well have proved quite boring: but Imladris had created, this season, an apprehension of its own.  
  
In the corridor outside of the bedchamber he shared with his wife, one Elf Lord paced anxiously. His chief advisor attempted to calm him down. "My lord, my friend, you have been through this before, you know it will all turn out for the best," Glorfindel reminded Elrond, slightly worried by his friend's condition. Elrond glanced at his friend, then shook his head and began to chew on his left thumbnail. "Stop that!" Glorfindel told him, grabbing his friend by the hand.  
  
Luckily, just at that moment, three familiar voices carried down the corridor. From their conversation, it sounded as though their recent adventures had been somewhat memorable, exciting and, much to Lord Elrond's dismay, life-threatening. "Where have you been?" he demanded, as the three rounded the corner. Legolas, who stood behind the now-frozen Elladan and Elrohir, tried to slink away. "Come here, you three. Where have you been? Each season turned twice since you left!"  
  
"We sent a letter," Elladan stammered, surprised. What had gotten into his father? The boys were often late; once they sent a letter with a new date of arrival everything was fine.  
  
"Boys," Glorfindel said to the twins, sensing that he ought to intervene before something awful occurred, "over the two years you were gone, your adar and naneth decided to. . .extend the boundaries of your family."  
  
"We are going to have a brother?" Elrohir asked.  
  
"Or a sister, yes," Glorfindel replied calmly.  
  
"And part of the plan had been telling you, you two knowing and being here when the time came--" Elrond ranted, but was interrupted by Elladan's excited question, "You mean he is already with us?"  
  
This question was punctuated by a high-pitched wail from within the bedchamber. Elrond at once rushed to the door, only to find it locked. "The midwife," Glorfindel explained to the newcomers, "locked the door when she felt your adar was worrying your naneth too much."  
  
After much worry from without and much howling from within, the five anxious Elves were admitted into the bedchamber. Celebrían, leaning on a sea of pillows, looked upon them and smiled radiantly, holding a blanketed child in her arms. Everything ill, the worry and anger which had been mounting in the corridor, dissolved at the sight of the woman, and every one smiled without knowing it. The family convened on the bed, where they observed their new arrival with appreciative commentary. "Is it a boy?"  
  
Celebrían smiled. "A girl," she replied, jostling the tiny baby me in her arms.  
  
"Valar be praised," Ada replied, smiling at the twins.  
  
"Yes, and where have you been?" Nana asked, mocking anger with her two eldest.  
  
"Everywhere, Nana, just wait until we tell you," Elrohir replied.  
  
"Not today!" Ada amended quickly, so quickly that Nana smiled and assured him that she was absolutely not in need of such protection. "I know, my love," Ada assured her.  
  
"I doubt that," Nana replied, and leaned over to kiss him, resulting in the first thing my eldest brother ever said in my presence: "You two ought to set a better example for my little sister! And to name her, also!" This was met again with laughter.  
  
Legolas spoke to me of this moment, when I asked him to. He told me, the family looked so happy together, so loving, that he believed no matter what happened, no matter how bad and evil the world became, we would always have each other, and that would be enough. Love, he said, bound us to one another, held us together. He had known love to come between the boys and their parents with much difficulty, had known the boys to fight and beat each other up, but in that moment he knew that there was love between them. He knew that they, and we, were a single entity when we allowed ourselves to love.  
  
He never said that he envied me. I later realized that he did.  
  
In response to Elladan's question, Nana said, "She already has a name. Elladan, Elrohir, this is Arwen. Your sister."  
  
*****  
  
To be continued  
  
Author's note: I know that Elves plan on the date on which they will conceive and give birth to their children, but it seems that it would be a nervous ordeal nevertheless--for a father, that is. Also, I do not think they know in advance the sex of the child. If they do, just let me know and I will change this chapter accordingly.  
  
Steph-h: Thanks! Well, Arwen jumped out of a window. That's pretty much the plain text, Cliffnotes version of it. Arwen jumped and Galadriel stopped her.  
  
Kobe Grace: Have a care with this term of "crazy", it is not as clear-cut nor simple as most think.  
  
I know you all want an explanation. . .in time, all in good time. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, I love hearing from you! 


	6. Open up your eyes

" A heart can be broken, but it will keep beating just the same." --Ninny Threadgoode, Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistlestop Café  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places thereof  
  
*****  
  
Amin-rîn. . .nallon. Nain dim-nin na vanwe. [My remembrance. . .I cry. May it be my sad(ness) is lost.]  
  
"Arwen?"  
  
I looked up from the book in my lap to see a figure standing nearby, his identity hidden by the blinding sunlight. Raising my hand to shield my eyes, I saw that the Prince of Mirkwood had spoken my name. He was looking at me as though he had never seen me before, and for a moment I could not conceive of why. Then I understood: Legolas saw me last as a crying child, and here I was nearly a woman.  
  
Gently I closed my book and rested it on the stone bench beside me, then stood and smiled at Legolas. We had been friends once, he and I. A stirring within me called to those days, ashes blown by a wind that can scatter them but has not the strength to rekindle the blaze. The wood of the fire has burned long ago, now nothing but charred fragments, so brittle, leaving a mark at the slightest touch. Which of us would touch today, which walk away with a mark? I curtsied to my one-time friend, then looked to him.  
  
"I--My word, Arwen, I knew you were here but not who you were. When last I saw you, you were only this high and such a child. . ."  
  
It held truth, what he said. I had grown at least a foot, if not more, since last he saw me. But what was I now? Beautiful, many would have said, in answer to my question. Standing before Legolas then, I found myself ashamed of my beauty and painfully aware of it. I wore my hair freely and colors of girlhood, pastel and brightness adorning my body. It seemed unfair that I should be so ugly inside and beautiful from without.  
  
Legolas, too, was a beautiful person, and I wondered if he felt unworthy, if inside he, too, lacked goodness. He looked like a child that day, smiling as though all the world a great joke, his hair braided neatly but without the meanest appearance of care.  
  
Comparing us, I found that two beautiful people are not necessary at all similar. His smile was carefree and mine burdened, his hair blond, neat, braided and thin while mine was dark, thick and free. His blue eyes, too, were carefree and warm, while my grey orbs were closed and cold. He looked happy and surprised. I looked sad, though I smiled.  
  
'You look to break my heart,' Celeborn said to me. I knew the look he meant, the feeling as my muscles form the expression of happiness through sorrow. Talking with Celeborn seemed a pleasant affair, for he spoke little and meant every word he said. His words were puzzles which I loved to decode.  
  
"Forgive me, Arwen, if I have offended," Legolas said. "If this is why you will not speak to me."  
  
I shook my head to indicate a negative, and slid my arms around him to tell him: no, it is not you, you are my friend, Legolas, do not feel sorry. When I withdrew he was looking oddly at me, and I knew that he thought this no different from that day when I was twelve years old. I shook my head, but his expression did not falter.  
  
So Legolas would be marked that day, by misunderstanding and a lack of communication he would walk away with a grey dusting on his hands easily removed, if one could see it. If I had to mark a turning point in my young adult life, it would be there, after Legolas said nervously, "Well, I. . .farewell, then. I will see you tomorrow perhaps?" Watching him walk away, I felt a friendship ending and, though I mourned it, the mourning was little, for as the child does not mourn the moon which is suddenly gone, for slowly it has waned, I had seen my friendship deteriorate and dwindle.  
  
When Legolas could not longer be said to be my friend, I was not sorry. The last threads of my old life had gone. It was as the fly struggling for release from the spider's web that Legolas severed me, freeing me my confines. Even I knew not who I would become, but now I was free to learn who that person was--or I would be free, by nightfall tomorrow, I reckoned. And I was right.  
  
That very night well after dark, I sat in the room appointed to me, "my room" one might have called it, I sat on my bed and sketched in a little book I kept. Many did not understand why I elected to sit upon the bed instead of sitting at the desk. Many did not consider that I found the bed more comfortable, and would have chosen to sit on the ground had the bed not been available. The things I did puzzled many, but were to me perfectly logical.  
  
Perhaps my logic simply zigs and zags that it may not be caught nor well followed. Yes, this is an image I enjoy, my logic an awkward path zipping this way and that, and that of those trying to follow a straight line, crossing at times with the path of mine but never melding, never joining my pathway.  
  
"My lady Arwen?" A girl by the name of Ainadel stood in the doorway. Ainadel supposedly was an apprentice, to a seamstress or some such probably, but I had never heard who her master was, and she seemed perfectly content to carry messages from one person to another. The moment I heard her voice, I knew.  
  
"Forgive the interruption, my lady, but Prince Legolas sends word that he is sorry, but business has called him swiftly from Lothlorien. He regrets that he will be unable to reenter your company this trip and hopes that he will see you again soon."  
  
Had he asked that the message be delivered late, that I would be unable to follow or find him before he left? Did he hate me then, or fear me, or simply not want to hurt me? Legolas's attempts to spare my feelings through euphemisms were kind, but misplaced. Clearly he still thought of me as a child, and not unfairly, but now he had done me the greatest kindness of all: he had freed me.  
  
I looked to Ainadel and said, "Thank you, Ainadel."  
  
Her eyes widened in shock, and for a moment she stared, then scurried away. I nodded after her. Privacy would not do for me now, my voice was rusty and wanted for practice. I sat up and cracked what joints I could, suddenly feeling rusty all over. Galadriel warns me against cracking my knuckles, saying the joints will swell. This seems an odd comment from her: she is not the sort to say such things, to speak of appearance and propriety, and her fingers, which on occasion I have felt, feel cold as stone. Some of her warnings amuse me, this among them.  
  
I did not practice my newfound ability on Galadriel, for I had much to say to her and needed to be certain before I began that my voice would remain steady. Instead I sought out my grandfather, who indeed was my grandfather in more than title. I do not feel I have said this to him enough. I love him. Celeborn, I love you.  
  
That day, I found him in his study. I put upon myself a guise of quietness and shyness, that which I had long worn. Acting to befit my guise, I knocked, awaited his permission, and entered. Oh, it was too splendid, and I felt so giddy. The prospect of a new me and the renewed freedom of speech set my heart aflutter. Biting my lip, I entered Celeborn's study in silence.  
  
"Arwen. Is it not too late an hour for you to be wandering about?" he asked affectionately but tiredly.  
  
I waited until Celeborn was looking away to say, "No later than it is for you to be working." He chuckled in an approving, amused sort of way, as if to say that this was too true, then he looked up sharply. I smiled, but not a smile to break his heart.  
  
It felt good when Celeborn hugged me that night, which was, I believe, the second time since I arrived in Lothlorien that he did so. Usually there are two emotions which evoke the need for a hug, and these are quite possibly the two most basic emotions in the world: happiness and sadness. By implication, I induced feelings of unhappiness and happiness, an interestingly paradoxical compilation.  
  
Here is my meaning spelled out: there were two things I never did in Lothlorien, not until that moment, one was speak and the other was cry. Because I never spoke, only my smile allowed others to know I was happy, and I was not. When I smiled it was forced, a smile to break a heart. But also, I never cried, for tears are weakness. I was hurt and angry. What did I seek more than strength? There is nothing.  
  
So as I never spoke and my heart weighed heavily with sorrow, I brought unhappiness. As I never cried nor complained, I implied perhaps not happiness but certainly contention. My years as a walking paradox had been of interest, and then they ended.  
  
"Celeborn?" I asked him, sitting opposite him at his desk after having been hugged for the first time in years. "Do you ever feel that. . .that you are second to Galadriel?"  
  
"Whatever do you mean?" he asked without meeting my eyes. Because of this I knew that he understood my meaning.  
  
"Well, at home in Imladris, if my mother says yes and my father says no, the answer is no. But here in Lothlorien, if you say no and she says yes, what is the answer?" I asked, unable to think of a much better analogy.  
  
Celeborn looked into my eyes then and said, "Let me tell you something about love, Arwen. When you love someone you stand beside them, even if this means standing behind them. If she says no and I say yes, the answer is that she and I will discuss the matter and find a solution together. I do not answer to Galadriel and she does not answer to me. She is simply. . .the greater presence. I am content to fade into the background and watch her, not out of laziness but because I trust her and because I love her. Galadriel enjoys a little confrontation every now and again; I do not. Also, she is beautiful when she argues."  
  
I shook my head. "Then how are you of equal power?"  
  
"Ah, child. You see much, but not all. Some things must be experienced to be understood."  
  
The next morning I awoke feeling strong. Today, I knew, I would test my newfound skill. Sitting across from Galadriel at breakfast that morning, I knew Celeborn had kept his silence, for she said nothing nor looked as though she had a slight inclination. Celeborn and I smiled slyly at each other. At last, sensing the moment appropriate, I swallowed a lump of bread and asked, "You do not like my father much, do you, Galadriel?"  
  
I do believe she nearly spat out a mouthful of juice in surprise. How I would have loved to see that! Nonchalantly, I raised my cup of milk to my lips, if only to hide my smile. Galadriel recovered quickly, and she said, "Your father and I. . .have had our differences, yes."  
  
"But you dislike him? It is not as though you have a friendly argument between you." Hours ago I would not speak. Now I would argue. How confused Galadriel must have been then!  
  
"This is true," she admitted.  
  
"I wondered, if I may ask--may I ask?" The question sounded innocent and natural, but in truth I had choreographed the entire conversation in my head the night before as I lay awake in bed, too giddy for sleep.  
  
Whether out of happiness for my new vocal expression or because she actually cared what I wished to say, Galadriel granted that I might ask whatever I wished.  
  
"Why do you not like him? Surely, if you allowed your daughter to marry him, you must have thought well of him once."  
  
"Lord Elrond and I have simply not seen eye to eye on too many occasions," Galadriel said. "We do not hate each other, Arwen, nor are we enemies, we are simply not friends. Perhaps when he had grown I treated him too much like a child, for I did know him in his youth. Perhaps I tried too often to interfere with the way he raised his children."  
  
Her answer left me open-mouthed in shock. She spoke not only the truth, but the blatantly unedited facts. This is not what I had expected. "When you brought me here," I asked, struggling to recover my calm, "did you mean only to spite him? Or did you think that he would harm me more than help me?" I looked daggers at her, daring her to answer me honestly.  
  
Galadriel sighed. "I thought it best for you, child, because Elrond cannot see as I can and because in Lothlorien none knew of your actions. Your reactions were. . .not at all as I expected."  
  
This hurt me, this knowledge that she thought me an immature child, as though I were mute by election! Nevertheless, I replied, "I fail to see the logic in displacing an emotionally troubled youth."  
  
"You are not a mother."  
  
Ah. The mother card. The response, 'You are not my mother,' came to me unbidden, but then, just as I opened my mouth to speak these words, I realized that I was being tested. "Nay, I am not, but though situation changes emotion remains the same."  
  
Galadriel looked at me with grave interest, then she nodded. "You are yet half-child, but some day you will be a sharp woman. The fire within you burns, Arwen. It is starved of fuel. Now ends the period of starvation and enters a period of great educations, should you deem to learn them." She underestimated me then, I felt, but said nothing. She knew my thought and nodded. "Perhaps one quarter child."  
  
Then she drew something from the folds of her skirt and tossed it to me. I caught the projectile and looked at it, surprised. "Just in case you find need to whet your tongue," she said, and she smiled. I slipped Elladan's knife into my pocket and never took it out again. Whenever I felt nervous, I would finger that knife and think of my brother, then I would feel strong again.  
  
Galadriel left the flet then, her radiant self swishing and sweeping to somewhere, I could not have said where, leaving Celeborn and I in silence. Stunned, I tipped my head back and emptied drank the remained of my milk. Celeborn looked at me and smiled. "You see what I mean? Beautiful."  
  
Amin-rin. . .u-nallon, na sinome yallume.. [My remembrance. . .I do not cry, I am here, in this place, at last.]  
  
*****  
  
To be continued 


	7. See the sunny skies

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places thereof  
  
*****  
  
I had realized at the age of thirteen that playing the porcelain doll no longer befit my countenance. At the time, I thought, 'Never shall I hurt so much as this tearing of my roots from their soil.' Comically, I encountered something not much after that which caused me to thoroughly re-evaluate this supposition.  
  
The songs of Lothlorien hardly do justice to her seasons. In the spring, when the air is fresh in all the lands, Lothlorien of all enjoys the most perfect of feelings, not laden or sickly sweet with the scent of flowers and the song of birds; rather, these things may be taken in without realizing until that breath is within the throat. It causes one to start and gasp in air to find these splendors again. The forest floor is laden with leaves of golden hue. Upon the boughs grow flowers of yellow and young green leaves. One might easily think, having strayed into these depths, to have found him or her self in a dream. It is not so, for dreaming knows not the glory.  
  
With this beauty as a backdrop I chose a book from within the library and took it out to sit with only the trees for company. Such a thing may be achieved only by a long walk, which I did not terribly mind, but the time I spent thinking. Imladris I knew well. Closing my eyes I might walk along its paths and nearly smell every flower and leaf. Lothlorien I had not taken the time to explore, and now my chance had gone. I had grown from exploration to an age of. . .something quite terrible which kept me from laughing too loudly, swimming naked under moonlight, and tearing up my skirts climbing trees.  
  
I settled into a sort of cozy as small rodents create for themselves, a naturally formed den, if you will. It was at the base of a thick tree, two roots forming walls between which I might stretch out my legs, stiff in one place too long, or curl up without feeling vulnerable. The final wall of my fortress, as I thought of it, should have been stronger. Oh, that I had realized my defensive wall as naught but a group of leaves! How different things might have been!  
  
For the greater part of the afternoon I remained in my den, poring over page after page of words of such eloquence and circumlocution as I should only dream to achieve, a being of such whole splendors as logic cannot fathom; this being, of course, was poetry. Enraptured by this world created about me, dreamed safe in the crenels of my mind, I missed the falling of my portcullis to a disliked ally who would in mere moments become my enemy.  
  
"Lady Arwen, the hour grows late."  
  
Through a fog of fantasy I raised my eyes from my books. Stilted birdcalls I had for hours failed to notice now assaulted my ears. Squinting against the sun's low rays I saw Haldir, the self-obsessive march warden, standing atop my leafy wall of defense. I had nothing to say to him.  
  
Lightly he hopped into my den and sat beside me. Because I was a Lady and it would have been rude to do so, I did not scoot away from him. "Do you seek a burden of me?" I asked  
  
Haldir laughed. "I shall never ask you to do anything it is not your wish to do," he said to me.  
  
"This is good," I said. He continued to waste my time, which to my opinion is not refraining from begging a boon.  
  
"I would, however, ask you one favor, as we are friends. . ."  
  
"What is it?" I asked him, for though we were not friends I had not the lack of courtesy to refuse him.  
  
"Lady Arwen, might I. . ." he began nervously. "That is to say, if it were not too bold. . .If I may ask you, that is, if I might say to you. . ." He shook his head. "May I. . ." Unable to ask, he leaned over to me and kissed me then, not on the cheek as a brother might but just like that on the lips! With a muffled shriek I hit him on the head with my book. What in Arda did he think he was doing! "Oh, come, Arwen, these are not the elder days! We are an advancing society, and both of us young. Let me try once more and you will see that, if you are open, you will feel that you want for me as I for you."  
  
Here I must admit the shame of my actions, for I did as he asked: I allowed him to kiss me once more. At first I felt nothing, and for this was thankful. There were no great fireworks dancing before me; all I saw was Haldir, his eyes closed. His tongue moved inside my mouth, and perhaps it is then that I might have felt something, but all I knew was the disgusting warmth of his mouth over mine and the trouble I had breathing at that moment.  
  
When I became truly angry was when Haldir touched my hair, because when he did so I did want him just as he claimed to want me. The moment I felt it I moaned, then shoved him away from me. "By Elbereth!" I shouted at him, getting to my feet. "What did you think you were doing? Do you not recall that I am the Lady Arwen Evenstar, daughter to Lord Elrond of Imladris, granddaughter to Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn of Lothlorien forest? Are you not aware of the fact that your actions are completely unacceptable by any standard of decency? I ought to tell Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn, Haldir, that is what I ought to do!"  
  
"Arwen, please, wait, I--"  
  
"You nothing! Stay away from me, Haldir of Lorien. I swear to you that if you put one more finger on my body I will accuse you of such crimes no elven realm will harbor you!"  
  
He knew of what I spoke, and back away against the tree's trunk, his eyes wide in fear. If I told my grandparents the truth, Haldir would be in such trouble! I turned from him and ran, ran as hard and as fast as I could.  
  
"Arwen?" Lady Galadriel's voice asked gently as she knocked on the door. "Please may I come in, Arwen?" she asked.  
  
I didn't answer, just moved my knees up and rested flat against them. Water splashed about as I moved to hide my body as best I could. The skin shone pink through the water. Since that rebellion of my physical being against my mental being earlier on, I had heated up the water and waited until I could stand it, then rested beneath the surface with wormy tendrils of hair floating like great leeches before my face. My beautiful, raven locks had earned me many compliments before. That day, I just want to take a knife and cut away every one of them.  
  
Galadriel came in anyway. I did not mind that she came into the room while I was having a bath; she had seen me naked when I was a small child, in the days before I could change my own clothes without help, and that same body now sat amid water tinged brown from dirt--but only a little. What bothered me, I suppose, was that she was seeing the body Haldir thought of. No more was my body my own, but some twisted, distorted idea of the female image in the mind of a sick boy.  
  
"Arwen," Galadriel said my name again, "is something the matter?"  
  
"No," I answered, my word heavy from all the saliva I had not swallowed but allowed to accumulate in my mouth, too scared that when I swallowed my own liquids I should swallow some of his, too. Speaking in such conditions brought to my mind the image of those bubbles floating to the surface of the bath when I lay below. Did my words break the surface, also? "Why should something be the matter?"  
  
Instead of answering, she took a cloth from the side of the bath and poured soap over it. I could hear her 'tsk, tsk' in my mind, could feel her criticizing me: "After so many hours in the bath, Arwen, you are no cleaner than you were when you got in, are you?" She said nothing out loud, though, and I was grateful. At the moment I did not want to talk.  
  
Even the feeling of my grandmother's hands against my skin, and only for the purpose of cleaning away the muck, made me shiver. Ah, but I felt so vulnerable! Haldir had asked my permission, and though I had not given it, he had taken what he wanted. What stopped anyone else from doing the same? I would not have the strength to fight back. My body no longer felt a temple, sacred. It was a traitor, a usurper, deciding my actions, though it had no right: a foreign soldier in a domestic war.  
  
Since the day I started talking, I had been strong. Galadriel began teaching me how to think, how to know, how to stand on my own two feet, and did I ever love it! Now instead of simply doing as I was told I questioned, asking myself, is this truly what I want? Is this hurting me or does it help me? Then, knowing rightly, I might act or not act as I was suited to do.  
  
There was, naturally, the inescapable want to use this newfound freedom against Galadriel and never do anything as she asked. She had expected this rebellion. The moment I moved against her, she was there to put me in my place. You may do as you wish, she said to me, but you must be able to defend your actions. Celeborn asked me not to cross blades with Galadriel, then he warned me not to cross blades with her. You will regret it, he said. That had been his lesson for me: know your allies. I had not learned.  
  
Now I saw my mistake. In the perversity of my youth, I had come to love argument. Sometimes I would pick a fight simply to be in a fight. Galadriel met me blow for blow, of course, always ten steps ahead, but I knew I was catching her. I could feel my mind expanding to new horizons, accepting new knowledge to utilize against the giver. How unwise! I had planned not at all for the future that was now upon me. Lady Galadriel, my ally, had become alienated. Sitting there in the bath, I wanted nothing more than to cry and have her hold me as she had when I was small. Was I her granddaughter anymore? I had to ask myself this. Did I still have those rights, to be treated as a child? Constantly I insisted on being addressed as an adult. No, I resolved, mine was not the right to cry.  
  
"Arwen?" Galadriel asked my attention, worry in her eyes. "How did you come by this?" She motioned the bruise in the soft skin over my shoulder.  
  
Early, I popped my shoulder out of place and back. It was a skill I have honed as a child, though my parents insisted it inappropriate for a young lady. Now, I hardly cared. Snap, into place, crack, out again. I held the bone and felt the top of my arm bone protrude against my skin. I pressed my fingers into the gentle crevice.  
  
Looking into my grandmother's eyes, I burst into tears. Galadriel held me as I wept, sometimes promising me that it would be all right, but mostly not saying anything at all.  
  
That day ended the period of Arwen the Strong and entered the period of Arwen, Weak and Young. I was seventeen years old.  
  
*****  
  
Author's note: I do not know if what happens in this chapter between Arwen and Haldir is considered inappropriate to Middle-earth; I looked at the works of Shakespeare as a reference point. Up until now, I've tried to write three thousand words for every chapter, but that's really hard for me. I'm going to try for two thousand. Chapters will be shorter but more frequent, save for the next as I will be on vacation for a few weeks. Also, now I remind you that Arwen states her age in mortal years. 


	8. The Wind is low, the birds will sing

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places thereof  
  
Sorry for the formatting accident earlier...hopefully this one will be all right!  
  
*****  
  
When I was ten years old, I had a pet. It was the only pet I ever had, in the manner of a pet. Pets, it must be understood, can be known in two ways: the first manner being that of a companion or friend, one to relate to and share every secret with. This usually applies to dogs and horses, or creatures of such a nature. The second manner of a pet is one to protect, to look after, to see to it that the creature is happy and content. This is applied more to cats and frogs, although frogs are more oft kept simply for observation. Either manner in which a pet is kept, a close relationship is developed. Either the pet becomes dependent upon the master or the master becomes dependent upon the pet.  
  
I met my little pet on a glorious spring day, the sort of day when the sun shines and everything in the world shines with it. The birds would chirp happily and the trees would seem more majestic than usual in the early hours of such days. Light glittered off the tops of leaves, which were dancing in the light breeze. It was the season with all the beauty of summer but none of the stifling heat. The air was sweet, the trees were full, the flowers were in bloom. The world was happy. And to share this happiness, my family breakfasted outdoors, if you call on the verandah outdoors. My brothers and my father were discussing the number of Orcs about; the twins were planning to accompany a party soon that would be hunting Orcs around the mountains, south of Imladris.  
  
Having no interest in Orc-hunting, I merely sat, allowing my mind to wander as I picked at my food, not knowing or caring what I was putting in my mouth. "Arwen, dear, sit up straight," Nana said, and I did, shifting my weight and squaring my shoulders. It was a natural response. I think, however, that Nana must have been equally as bored with the conversation, because I had hardly slumped at all and she had practically jumped at the chance to correct me. At the time I did not realize this, but have of late had much time to meditate on the past, and judging from her tone, as I remember it, she was either as bored as I was or exasperated with my inability to sit up straight. (I prefer to think it was the former, for it implies that Nana and I had at least this in common)  
  
It was shortly after that I noticed a blurred movement off behind Elrohir: blurred because I had trained my eyes not to focus. I squinted that I might more clearly see what it was, but I had been too slow and it was gone. With a dejected sigh I returned to my food, slumping over in my chair. This time Nana did not correct me. After a moment I felt something small and soft nudge against my left hand, which rested limply by my side. Looking down, I saw that my blur had been an orange-and-white cat no bigger than the both of my hands, and all over pink. The nose was pink, the pads on the paws were pink, and beneath the thin fur, the skin was visibly pink. It gazed up at me with a pleading look, standing on its back legs with its front paws resting on the chair beside me. "Kitty!" I exclaimed gaily, scooping the ragged little thing into my arms. My shout had drawn the attention of the rest of my family, and now they stared oddly at me.  
  
"Arwen, put it down, it may be carrying any number of diseases," Ada said in a wary tone.  
  
I looked at him almost defiantly, though as my looks were not unlike those of a porcelain doll I cannot say how defiant I appeared, and said, "I'm keeping him." The creature mewled hungrily, and without so much as a look at Ada yet always conscious of his actions I retrieved my glass of milk and offered it to the cat, who sniffed at it, then dipped in one paw and licked it. I nearly laughed when he dipped his entire head into the glass and came out with milky whiskers. At this point I looked back to Ada, whose face was set against my intentions, but Nana reached across the table and laid her hand atop his and looked to him, saying with her eyes something I could not understand.  
  
"All right," Ada said. "You may keep this animal, but it will be your responsibility to care for it."  
  
I nodded, and in that moment I swore not only my companionship and love, but my every waking moment also to that fragile little creature. As I held him against my chest I felt his heart beating, I felt how brittle his bones were, and I pledged myself to him. Years later I would think often of the cat, not as a loss, but with sudden understanding. In the darkness of my nights, I would think--not imagine, for this image came unbidden--that I was in that frail body. No one ever knew any of this, and so it was very difficult for them to understand what would come to pass in a few months' time.  
  
The cat became my everything. I fed it from my own plate at mealtimes whenever I could get away with it. I slept with the cat beside my head on the pillow. And every chance I got, I walked in the woods with the cat by my side. Strangely, I never did name him. Many say that when one names an animal, one forms an emotional attachment to it. Although I never named the cat, he would be for ever within me. Even now, in my thoughts, he has adopted no title, although he has adopted a title of ownership: -my- cat.  
  
Three or four months later, Elladan and Elrohir discussed the results of their orc hunt with Ada. It had been quite the success--but, Elladan maintained, there were more orcs out there, one hunt would not kill them all. This business of death and brutality frightened me. My eyes darted around, observing. Not only orcs had died on this hunt. Suddenly the world seemed a very frightening place.  
  
"You need not worry, Arwen. In Imladris you are safe."  
  
I know, Ada, I know I am safe, but I am scared nonetheless. If a child fears the monster in his or her closet, although their parent may open the closet door and show them that no monster is there the child loses no fear. So being told that in Imladris I was safe changed nothing.  
  
Absently I scratched behind my ear at an itch that refused to go away. I drew my hand away when I felt a spot of blood. There, beneath my nail, was the insect. I knew it at once and moved to be rid of it but not quickly enough! "Arwen, how in Arda..." Nana did not finish this question: she knew the answer without my saying it. She looked to Ada. I fled before she could speak.  
  
My door did not lock. I never cared much about that before, but now I could only slam the door closed and curl up on the bed. My cat mewled, jumped up beside me and began licking my face. I laughed bitterly, knowing I would never again feel his rough tongue against my skin. Having no conception of his fate, the cat went on licking away my tears and crying for my unhappiness. I cried harder for his ignorance.  
  
"Arwen..."  
  
"Take him," I said, refusing to look at my father. "Just take him. I hate you! I hate you so much it hurts!"  
  
Later I would say to Galadriel that I hated my father and she would very gently tell me that I did not mean these words. Ada only said, "I am sorry you feel that way." He did take my cat, speaking softly to the animal without avail: my cat continued to cry for me. I remained on my bed, shaking with the violence of my sobs. I felt as though my best friend had been taken from me, a part of my heart ripped free.  
  
I awoke in the evening, when the sun had set. Unconsciously my hand moved to the space beside my pillow where my cat slept--and found nothing. The events of that morning came back to me in a rush, but I did not cry. Tears faded to the past. I sat up and realized I was not in my own bed but my brother's. What was I doing there?  
  
Silently I left Elladan's bed, reorganized the blanket and pillow (Elladan had strange sleeping habits, and although I often wondered at this, he never woke from guilt or grief in the middle of the night), and walked out of the room. I opened the door to my own room and stood in the doorway for a moment. There were no blankets on the bed. With a wave of guilt I realized that the cat's fleas would have gotten everywhere, and the blankets and pillow and probably most of my clothes were going to be washed before being safe for use again. "It's just a stupid bug," I said to no one in particular, and left the room.  
  
Glorfindel was in the stables (but then, when was he not?) but he ignored me. Glorfindel usually ignored me: I do not think he liked me very much. For a while I sat on the gate of an empty stall and watched as he worked, mucking out stall. He did not have to do that, being a lord, but he did. I wondered why but did not ask.  
  
Because Elladan trusted Glorfindel and confided in him, I found myself trusting him also. "Glorfindel?" I asked quietly. "How do you tell someone that you are sorry without saying what for?"  
  
For such a time Glorfindel was silent that I did not think he had heard. Then he answered, "You must weigh your shame against your pride." He did not look at me as he spoke, and it seemed almost as though the words came from a being unseen. For another very long moment neither of us spoke, then Glorfindel said, "Perhaps you must decide if your father matters more than you do."  
  
He knew. Glorfindel knew everything. Frightened by this, by his knowledge and judgment, I jumped off the stall door and ran. It was a strange thing to me, running, for though I walked or rode long distances often I rarely took them at a run. I did not go very far, anyway.  
  
"Ada?" I stood in the doorway, looking into my father's study, bouncing nervously from my heels to my toes. "I do not hate you, Ada. I'm sorry I said that. It was a lie spoken of high emotion." I wanted to say, "I love you." I wanted to say, "It is difficult for me to be so alone." I wanted to say, "That animal was my best friend." I wanted to express the frustration of being the only child in Imladris, of feeling so lonely and useless, being treated like a child as I tried to grow into adulthood. Unfortunately, as a ten year old, I had neither the courage nor the understanding to say these things.  
  
I walked away, did not run, settled myself down to sleep on the bare mattress of my bed. It was midsummer, too warm for blankets, anyway. I did not cry. My cat was never spoken of again. When someone acted unusually kind towards me I acted grateful but uncertain of their intentions, until at last the little creature who was my close friend faded into memory.  
  
*****  
  
To be continued 


	9. That you are part of everything

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places thereof  
  
*****  
  
I fear you may think yourself not missed, but you are. Often we speak of you and your letters are fulfilling in some manners, but parchment cannot hold a smile nor ring with your laughter.  
  
Arwen, there is loneliness in Imladris without you. You are not forgotten. I remember you in Spring's every new bud, in the daisies and honeysuckle blossoms. Birds sing and you are not here to sing with them. The feathers of the tail of a hawk fell to the ground and I found them walking yestereve. I have sent them to you. Arwen...when you are again in attendance in our home, Sister, I hope we may speak. There are many things which I feel must be spoken between one person and another.  
  
Ever your loving brother, Elrohir.  
  
He writes to me and bids me come, and immediately I do. "Grandmother," I said, "I wish to return home to Imladris."  
  
Lady Galadriel looked up at me but the rest of her being froze. She seemed to look through me: I looked back. She wiped the ink from the nib of her pen and rested the implement on her desk. "Very well. For your own protection, Arwen, I must know that you are fit for this journey. Are you ready to revisit that night?"  
  
"The night I jumped out the window?" I asked her bluntly. She meant to teach me strength but I, being of a contrary mind, chose to learn sarcasm. In this instance my sarcasm took the form of false over-enthusiasm. "Sure thing, I would love nothing more than to discuss--" She silenced me with a single look. "Sorry." I was lying to placate her and we both knew it.  
  
I knelt upon the hearth and spoke into the fire. "I would appreciate it if in this matter you would be kind rather than harsh. I need you to ask me questions, to keep me going, to hurt me by making me speak but also to help me by loving me."  
  
She moved from behind her desk and I struggled to keep my gaze upon the flames, tracking Galadriel only by the rustling of her gown. She sat beside me and nodded. "Tell me," she commanded gently.  
  
"I can tell you that I never tried to end my life. I only wanted to fly. I did not realize...perhaps I did not care...that elves cannot do this. There was an owl and I heard him, I became him, felt every feather ruffled by the wind and heard the scurrying feet of a fieldmouse on the floor. I spread my wings..." What was wrong with my voice? Words seemed unwilling to come and in a hoarse whisper I gasped out, "I spread my wings and took flight. I leapt from my perch to fly, to hunt. I just wanted to do as my heart commanded."  
  
"Why did you believe this thing?" she asked. "What made you think you had the wings of an owl?" The word that came to mind then was perversion: Galadriel's voice spoke the word with tones but without syllables. I had committed a felony against our culture. We both knew it. To this day I question where her mind wandered, and whether she blamed my mortal blood.  
  
As I told the tale I remembered wide-eyed young Arwen, her nails bitten down to stubs, clutching the wooden rail with her feet resting on the lowest slat as she watched her eldest brother and Glorfindel break a wild mare, imagining she was that horse, feeling the strength as she bucked. Arwen knew the horse so well she could predict its moves, control its moves. The reason I speak of this child as another is that she is such a different being from me, such a more believing and innocent soul, that I cannot think how she became this...me.  
  
"When I was young I pretended to be animals. Mind you, not as some children who run about on all fours growling. I simply closed my eyes and I was soaring over Imladris, feeling the wind whistle beneath my wings! Other days I might burrow deep into the earth or bed down on warm straw. It was simply...what I did. I had even pretended to be..." I paused here and blinked, trying to recall if it had been so, or simply my imagination. "I even pretended to be you."  
  
Galadriel blinked, taken aback. She thought of her own sorrows and the weightiness of her own heart. I thought of it, too, for coming out of my trance-like playing state I had staggered as though pressed upon by a giant hand. "It was just a stupid childhood game."  
  
It was Galadriel whose mind caused me to withdraw from this practice of Becoming. It was magic, I believe that, but magic is a powerful and fearful. At the age of ten I sat boredly in my room, tossing a ball into the air and catching it in my outstretched hand. The night was oppressively cold, the chapping winds as potent as the stalwart heat.  
  
The sound of footsteps drew my gaze to the window, and indeed Lady Galadriel strolled in the gardens. I could see her by pushing myself nearly out of the window completely. Dissatisfied with this, I fell back against the wall, closed my eyes and sent out my mind to find hers.  
  
My eyes snapped open but I could not see. This was far more complex a mind than any other I had seen before, and she did not stroll for peace but deep in thought. The memories of the Two Trees, Feanor and the Valinor, of death and battle, shook me, but this was not all. The Lady felt sorrow as the deep lacerations of a lark's song on a clear morning, joy with the pain of tears and anger with the violence of destruction. All of these things flowed into me and I fought them, wrestled with concepts and powers until, at last, I sat freely panting in my room again.  
  
That day in Lothlorien, Galadriel's eyes told me that she had felt my innocent trespass, but she spoke no such thing aloud. She nodded, and I saw in her face that she had not yet decided if I could return to Imladris. I became desperate, my heart thumping against my ribs and homesickness threatening to drown me in tears. This above all else forced me to speak. "The reason I have been upset lately, Grandmother, is that one of your marchwardens by the name of Haldir kissed me." She gasped, and I forced my story to continue, "He took me so by surprise that I knew not what to do. I hit him on the head."  
  
"Oh, Arwen..."  
  
Again I coerced myself into speaking more of the story, scraping raw my soul for the value of shock and that I might be sent home, "Although originally the kiss disturbed me, what kept me upset was that Haldir had done to me I had done to Legolas many summers ago. Do not be too angry with him, Grandmother, please, for though he has hurt me he has also healed me. I needed revisit that night, to see my mistakes and to face them. Too long had I run from my past That running is over. Haldir frightened me because his darkness mirrored my own. I must return to Imladris, to my childhood, to know for certain that I am no longer this person."  
  
I looked into her eyes and saw respect, and knew that I had won the battle.  
  
Celeborn approached me as I was packing my bags. "Arwen."  
  
I jumped. "You frightened me!" That morning I had admitted to Galadriel Haldir's crimes and my own. At once I set to packing my things and planned to leave ere sunrise on the morrow. I would not allow Galadriel time to change her mind, nor did I wish to speak again to the marchwarden.  
  
"Arwen, please, do not go if you are unready."  
  
He truly cared. As with Galadriel I formed a bond of contention, this was not so with Celeborn. I trusted him. Often when I would not speak he sat beside me and spoke to me or told me jokes, but never treated me as broken. I loved him as a father, brother and friend. "I am ready, Grandfather," I promised. "Lady Galadriel would not release me into a wild world unprepared." I meant to reassure him, but inadvertently condemned his wife as something of a tyrant. Before I realized this mistake I would be a full day's ride from Lothlorien.  
  
"You lie well, Granddaughter. If you are unhappy, Lothlorien will be ever open to you."  
  
Tears stung my eyes. Words could not express the thrusts of my heart. I threw my arms around my grandfather and held tightly to him, desperate, thankful, grateful...so many emotions unnamed. We held each other for many minutes before drawing apart. I returned to my packing, thinking on the trip ahead, the difficulties of the road and the dangers of the solace at journey's end. These had been Celeborn's thoughts, also.  
  
I took his hands in mine and whispered, unable to speak properly, "Now is the time for battle. May we see glory dawn and rejoice."  
  
"Aye, my child, you will."  
  
But those battles would hold no glory. We knew this, both of us, and accepted it. We knew that even a victory would come at high cost. When we prayed then for victory, praying to the Valar as much as to each other, we prayed truly for strength to carry on.  
  
I did not sleep that night, but lay awake and listened to distant sounds, ruffling leaves, birds flapping their wings and dogs baying. My heart feared something unspeakable and denied me rest. Had I slept I know I would have dreamed of darkness and woken crying out.  
  
When the moon reached its zenith I left the room. Taking cares not to make a sound, I passed to the room in which I knew my grandparents slept, hoping they would be asleep but at the same moment praying for them to be awake. Their voices carried softly into the corridor and I paused to listen.  
  
"Are you certain of this? Galadriel, if you have Seen something, anything-- "  
  
"I said," she interrupted in a decisive whispered, "that there is nothing. What I See, my lord, is not necessarily what will come to pass. I have examined the possibilities in my mind and if this one thing must come, if what I have Seen must pass, then Arwen's return to Imladris will have no bearing whatsoever."  
  
Celeborn was unsure. "I will do as you say because I trust you, Galadriel, and because I believe that it is in Arwen's best interest that she return to her home. I want you to know that I am uncertain, but that I follow your judgment now. May this not be a mistake."  
  
Galadriel sighed and for a long moment neither of them spoke. I listened, unmoving, until Celeborn's breathing deepened and he slept. The sounds of sheets moving about betrayed Galadriel as she stood and spoke to the night, "If it is a mistake, Celeborn, there is naught to be done. I may See the future on occasion, but I cannot change it. I want this no more than you."  
  
Over two thousand years would pass before I understood this prediction, and more than seventy-two hours before I would sleep.  
  
*****  
  
To Be Continued 


	10. Won't you open up your eyes?

"Do I light up your day?"  
  
"Uh, uhm, sometimes."  
  
--from Bio-science class, seventh grade  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places thereof  
  
*****  
  
They tell me now that it was an act of kindness. I was a child, they say, and the only of my time. They wished for me to have companionship as they did as youths. Otherwise, things would be quite unfair. Loneliness is an awful fate for a child to suffer, they say. I believe them about loneliness. The rest is a lie, I am quite certain.  
  
It was summer, not a boiling hot summer when everything, including skin, becomes sticky and uncomfortable and heat lines rise from the ground, but a mild summer, light breezes blowing throughout the valley. Legolas was in Imladris, and at the moment in which my memory begins sitting across from me on my bed. An open book lay between us, my letter-tiles spread across the pages. This was an enjoyable game we had invented: one person spelled out one word with the tiles, then the other used one of the first player's tiles to spell a second word. I had spelled 'morbid', 'open', and 'lore'. Legolas had spelled 'thrice' and 'fowl', and on his turn spelled out 'Eru'.  
  
"That is not fair!" I protested. He had not allowed me to spell 'Elrohir' on my last go, saying no names allowed. 'Eru' was certainly a name! "You are cheating, Legolas."  
  
"'Eru' and 'Elrohir' are different," he replied.  
  
"I know they are different, but they are both names. If you want to spell 'Eru', we should have to go back one turn and I should be allowed to spell 'Elrohir'."  
  
"Then 'Eru' would not fit. Why are you so upset about this?"  
  
"I am not upset. You are cheating and it is not fair."  
  
Legolas' insistence that I took the game far too seriously and the shame burning within me for months afterwards composed the unhappy memory which asserted itself as I descended into the valley of Imladris. Perhaps I expected to feel home approaching me, and yet...after so many years, to return as a near-adult to a place which I knew only from the mind of a child, I felt a sense of wonder and dread. What was this place to which I returned? It was home, but what was it? I knew nothing.  
  
I realized then that when I left Lothlorien for Imladris, I did so to challenge myself and in a way to escape Lady Galadriel, for she and I never would overcome our differences (I believed), but more than anything I left Lothlorien to achieve a goal. "Forgive me," I whispered to the winds, swallowing tears. Whose forgiveness did I beg? Quietly, ever so quietly, I amended, "Forgive me, Grandfather."  
  
I found my mother in her flower garden, tending the plants with soil on her hands and clothing. She had an aspect of sadness to her, but not an overbearing sorrow. She worked on, lived on, brave and boldly forgetting and forgoing weepiness in favor of strength. In this I wondered that I might have brought this sorrow upon her, that the loss of her only daughter drove Celebrían to this subtle mourning.  
  
"Nana?" In seven and three tens of years this word had not graced my lips; it felt awkward now and hardly a whisper. Celebrían paused, uncertain if she heard or simply imagined the word, then returned to her work. "Nana," I said again, louder this time. She looked up and saw me: in that moment I saw my mother as my father must have seen, knew how he must have felt as a stranger in a strange land to behold this fair creature and feel at home.  
  
"Arwen." She said the name with no awkwardness, addressing me as though I had been gone days, not years. Sparkle and magic, my mother: never exhausted, graceful in sorrow, calm under pressure. When she hugged me I rested my head on her shoulder and wished I could somehow absorb these virtues from her. "You have grown," she observed, holding me at an arm's length. "Mother must not have imparted this to you, so I will--chin up, girl."  
  
She sounded so like Lady Galadriel that I laughed, holding my chin parallel to the ground and straightening my shoulders. Had Galadriel written? Did Celebrían know that for so many years I refused to speak? "Is it good to be home?" she asked.  
  
"Am I?" I asked bluntly. "Forgive me," I added quickly, realizing what I had just said, "I only feel a little awkward here, after so many years."  
  
Celebrían smiled gently. "I understand. Your father is in his study--why don't you go brighten his day?"  
  
She showed mercy upon my return to Imladris, treating me with welcome and love yet without any sign of desperation. She made clear the fact that she had missed me, but promptly moved on from that topic. My father, on the other hand...suffice to say though I had always known him to have physical strength, I did not appreciate this fact until he had pressed the air from my lungs. I smiled, thinking of the saying, "True love hurts."  
  
"It's wonderful to be home," I sighed happily, upon being released from my father's embrace.  
  
"It is wonderful to have you home," he answered.  
  
My father's happiness was such that I knew it for a contrast without having seen his sorrow. Whereas Celebrían wore her sorrows deeply, well hidden beneath a pleasant exterior, Elrond bothered naught with this concealment. Perhaps her strength came of his weakness. Perhaps she supported him because he could not support himself.  
  
Surprised, I checked myself. 'He is still my father,' I thought, 'and as such I ought to respect him.' In later years, when experience hardened his emotions, I thought of my homecoming and wept. The difficulties of his childhood left my father a loving if misguided man, misguided only for knowing little of women. Tragedies later rendered him distantly affectionate towards his children, distant to others.  
  
Harsh thoughts towards my father drove me to be obedient in later years and falsely affectionate when I could not be so truly.  
  
My brothers I found sparring, easily located by the high, clear ringing of metal against metal. They wielded swords against each other, not wooden practice weaponry but true steel blades. Their display of arrogance failed to impress me: why did they assume those treacherous weapons would never turn against them? Even the most talented warrior errs.  
  
Watching the twins, not so identical to me, sparring in the courtyard, I hoisted myself onto the rail and sat. Weapons and battle came easily to Elladan; one might think he came into this world with a sword in his hand-- figuratively, of course, for a literal such display would surely injure our mother sorely! Elrohir, however, learned everything, and so lacked Elladan's soul in fighting. Both had impeccable technique and skill, but Elrohir's motions were so scholarly, lacking the spark and flame of Elladan's.  
  
When they finished their mock battle I approached them. "Has it been so long you have forgotten me?" I asked, throwing my arms around my brothers.  
  
"Never that's our little sister!" Elladan joked.  
  
"Imposter!" Elrohir added. "Oh, we have missed you!" He returned my embrace. "How are you?"  
  
Somehow this struck me as amusing, after so many years. "Will you teach me the art of the sword?" I asked, forgoing niceties. Elladan and Elrohir exchanged looks, silently debating who would answer.  
  
"Arwen, it isn't fitting," Elrohir said at last.  
  
"You are a lady; think what will be said if you look to marry."  
  
Again I laughed. "I do not look to marry, Elladan!"  
  
He frowned, the skin of his brow creasing in displeasure. "Arwen...please do not make a case of this. Don't try the rules of our society." In his eyes I saw not only pleading but exhaustion. When last I left, I suddenly realized, there had been a great fight. I caused such a ruckus as must have taken months or even years to calm. The boys hoped I was changed for the better. I was not.  
  
"Teach me," I repeated firmly. Elladan began to shake his head, and I knew that I pushed him too far, but would not relent.  
  
In Lothlorien I learned a few things. Celeborn gave me some basic training in defense. Any man married to Lady Galadriel would have respect for the abilities of women. In one quick, fluid movement I pulled a folding knife from a pocket hidden in the folds of my skirt--and halted.  
  
I remembered that knife, being given it years ago. It was morning. A shroud of mists laced the trees, a blanket of immaculate perfection concealing the haven Imladris from the rest of the world. Crickets played melancholy tunes. I bit my lip and refused to look back over my shoulder. "Are you ready?" Galadriel asked.  
  
Am I ready? Wondering at the question, I nodded slowly. What choice did I have? "Wait."  
  
I didn't say that, much as I wanted to. Looking down, for I was mounted atop one of the calmest mares in history, I saw a hand on my boot. Elladan looked up at me, his eyelids pink. "Take this with you," he whispered. "Keep it our little secret, yes?" He offered his hand and I took it, and for a moment we held desperately to each other. When Elladan withdrew his fingers, he left me holding my first weapon.  
  
That day in Imladris, I could not bring myself to draw the blade against Elladan. He gave me the knife for protection, I suppose, yet I used it...I used it shamefully. I held the cool blade against my wrists and enjoyed knowing that everything terrible, I was master of it. Never would I have done it, ended my pain in such a manner, for by the time I knew what I could do I was chillingly sane and lacked the courage and stupidity.  
  
Elladan saw my inability. He saw my temper controlled. "All right," he said, "I will ask Ada."  
  
He was as good as his word and better. "Arwen is no longer a child," Elladan said. "She is sensible. Let her learn to wield a blade. I will teach her well."  
  
Elrond sighed, and looked to me so sadly had he asked me then not to learn swordplay I would have agreed. Instead he said, "Arwen, please be careful. This is a privilege; do not abuse it. You are never to seek danger nor intentionally put yourself in its path."  
  
"Yes, Ada." I could not meet his eyes. How had I done this terrible thing? How could I bear to make my father so unhappy? I wanted more than anything to cry out, "No! No, Ada, I was wrong, I do not wish to learn this deadly art, I only wish to be loved!" But I did not do this, and for the rest of my days would wonder how differently my life might have turned out had I had the courage.  
  
*  
  
I ran upon the wind with demons at my heels. I heard them baying, whining out their hunger and pain as they came closer. I felt their breath on my ankles and in it felt my doom. Branches reached out to grab my body, tearing at my flesh and clothes and hair. As the demons chased my soul the trees fought for my body. I kept running.  
  
Cloth and skin tore upon impact as I slammed against the ground, kneeling. Voices roared from all directions and the world seemed to spin. Trees, plants and the wildcats I imagined blurred into one reeling vision, nothing settling long enough to be distinguished from its neighbor. From the light, the sun was near to setting. I gasped and drew in a lungful of air, forcing myself to be calm. 'Slow, slow!' I told my heart. 'Be at peace!'  
  
Suddenly the forest slowed its churning, until at last the trees stood still. I watched unmoving as a path cleared, and before me trees drew back to reveal a clearing. Sunlight sparkled over the dew-laden leaves of grass. Every color appeared exaggerated, hues as rich as emerald and gold yet more natural, less intimidating. The world was as an adult looking through a child's eyes, seeing only beauty and knowing to appreciate it.  
  
Into this clearing danced a girl. She spun and twirled, her white linen shift opening as a daisy. Two long, blond braids, woven tightly into hair not the color of gold but like canary feathers. She wore her feet bare and in childish innocence displayed her bare legs up to the knees in her spins. Budding breasts puckered the linen over her chest. She could not have been more than fifteen years younger than I! Gaily she leapt and whirled, until at last the girl collapsed onto the ground.  
  
I rose to aid her, yet as I stood so did she, but different now. The girl standing in the clearing wore leggings over tightly muscled legs and a loose tunic. She, too, wore her hair braided, but in one long line. Her hair -was- rich as gold, darker of color than the early. A glint of competition and happiness induced by endorphins and victory shone in her sea-blue eyes. This girl was younger than the earlier, perhaps twelve, to a mortal.  
  
She did not stand in the clearing, but upon a barely discernible path deep in a forest. Her sandal-clad feet pounded upon the damp soil as she sprinted away, pumping her arms back and forth for speed.  
  
The last girl to appear in the clearing had blood on her cheeks, chin and hands. She wore dark hair tied back, but much of it escaped its bonds. Her clothing was torn. Leaves and dirt clung to the sticky blood upon her. Her chest heaved, as if in great sorrow or desperation. She looked as though she stood poised upon the edge of a cliff, ready to jump. She was selfish and childish.  
  
With a blink I returned to my body, the body of the last girl. My mother, my grandmother--had I truly seen them? They looked so similar. Why did one become the other, yet neither become me?  
  
Slowly I came to understand that neither became me because I was no part of them. I was a selfish, childish girl, thinking only of myself. I knew that I must forge my own path, and draw no other into my unhappiness.  
  
When I rose, my legs were stiff from kneeling. Ignoring the dirt practically coating me, and did my best to wipe away the blood as I walked home. Sunset had passed. I stank of sweat and grime settled in my pores. I would take a bath, I decided, soak all the disgustingness off my body. Tomorrow, when I rose afresh from my bed, life would begin. Tomorrow, I would begin.  
  
*****  
  
To be continued  
  
I am not turning Arwen into Peter Jackson's Arwen--at least, I don't mean to. She will at no point in this story be stealing Glorfindel's horse and rescuing wounded Halflings. She will, however, learn to defend herself. 


	11. Look Around, round, round Look Around

"Once you meet someone, you never really forget them." --Zeniba, Spirited Away  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places thereof  
  
The sky darkened. Thick clouds of steel hung across the moon, obscuring the light, yet I saw all. Imladris was quiet. Not a breath of air disturbed the trees, but they did move themselves, venturing forth to whisper to one another, wondering at the presence. I felt it, too, heavy and oppressive, like a chill humidity. Rumors rose as a fine mist from the streams and rivers. Something was coming.  
  
The howl of a wolf split the night in two. I raised my voice to the heavens in respond, crying that I felt an evil inescapable, and saw my death. Before I spoke the words I could not have called them truth. My hackles rose, and I bared my teeth. It approached. Something in the night, the decreasing temperature or the thickening fog, made me yap and whine.  
  
I broke into a run. Suddenly, without warning or thought, I leapt, and on all fours raced through the forest. I was not human but wolf-kind, bounding on shaggy paws, my tongue dripping saliva from between my jaws. In a clearing I paused, and turned to look behind me. My fur stood on end. A great gust of wind blew the clouds from the moon, shedding blinding light over the world, and then I saw it, coming ever closer, and knew I could not escape. I turned and ran anyway, refusing to succumb, putting forth all my strength. Leaves and twigs flew past me.  
  
I dared a look back, and saw that my doom only half a wingbeat behind me. Even as I ran, a gush of air told me how close the predator came. I felt its claws bury themselves in my flesh, warm blood seeping from beneath my skin to mat my fur. There was a snap as of bone breaking, and flashes of color brighter than the sun filled my vision...  
  
"No!" With a gasp I awoke and sat bolt upright, clutching the quilt to my chest as though cloth alone would save me from the evil and fear already fading from my mind. A thick layer of sweat coated my body. My shift was soaked through, and stuck like clay to my skin. The sheets, too, had been drenched. For a moment, the looks of things made me wonder if I had not wet the bed. 'No,' I reminded myself, 'that is something I have not done in decades!' Nevertheless, I inhaled deeply to be certain. Only the smell of sweat tickled my nose.  
  
I rose and went to the window. Beads of condensed sweat from my shift rain down my legs, a blissful cool in the blistering night. I threw open the window and thrust my head into the night, experiencing not a rush of cold but one of thick tendrils of oppression clamping themselves around my body. The trees hardly moved in the still night, and this frightened me some, although the stars were clear and I knew not to expect wind. Summer was come again to Imladris.  
  
I was seventeen years old at the time, but had never experienced any need, any competitive drive, to act older than my years. Therefore I had no second thoughts on tiptoeing from my cell and down the corridor to my parents' room. More fear gripped me than embarrassment. I wanted my parents to drive away the nightmare, as only they could.  
  
Yet I could not wake them. In all their years together my parents slept in the same bed. I observed them at seventeen years, asleep, wound about one another. They held each other, their heads side by side on the pillow, gold and ebony mingling together. In her sleep, Celebrían's smile danced. Her eyes were dull, but not fearfully, not dull for anything but a lack of expression. Elrond smiled not, but nor did he frown. He simply was.  
  
The lack of expression in Nana's eyes parted way to a senseless happiness, as a little girl may giggle as she watches her feet imitating pendulums. Nana took to happiness as a fish to water. Ada, however, is by default not happy. This is not to say that he is unhappy. My father's happiness has always been somewhat subdued: he will smile, and laugh, and oft times does for little or no reason, but happiness does not overwhelm him. He is contained, as one encased in ice is contained, in peace and calm. In a way, they are perfect for one another, Ada and Nana. She feels happiness as an ocean within her, bottomless and powerful. He feels sorrow as the blood pumping in his veins, an intrinsic and delicate balance. Ada sinks in his ocean, and sometimes it seems only Nana can save him with her buoyancy.  
  
I leaned against the doorjamb, watching the light fall gently over my sleeping parents. The rhythmic rise and fall of their chests, the basic sign of life, soothed my soul to observe, and I found myself smiling so light a smile it might have walked on air. I tucked a wayward strand of hair behind my ear and brushed a bead of sweat from its tickling position in a trap of flesh on my knee, all the while keeping my eyes upon the graceful forms from which, I realized without a doubt, I was sprung. I imagined Elladan or Elrohir coming, felt their warm touch upon my shoulder and shared the moment of peace and love with them. No one came. After a time Nana shifted in her sleep, and Ada's icy peace melted in favor of turmoil, and I slipped away.

..

I found Glorfindel in the stables later that day, and stood silently until he acknowledged my presence. The day was young and the sun shone brightly. All around me the air was heavy with the sweat and manure of horses. Glorfindel raked a pitchfork across the wood shavings in an empty stall, cleaning it. He seemed quite the quaint farmer when observed at this task, not the clean-and-prim politician I often saw.  
  
"What do you seek?" he asked without so much as looking at me.  
  
"Only answers," I replied, "if I may request them." He duly agreed. I took a deep breath to calm my butterfly-heart and scrape together my courage. Fear coursed like a serpent through my belly, and I wondered if I feared the questions or their answers more. "Why do you not like me?" I asked at last.  
  
"Arwen--"  
  
"No." I covered my mouth, embarrassed. I should not have interrupted him, but his tone was one of mollifying resignation. "Please. How may a person improve when kept in darkness to his flaws? Help me grow, Glorfindel."  
  
He paused for a moment, and I held my breath. Mercies let him answer honestly! I thought. Glorfindel turned and regarded me calmly. For all my earlier preparations, I felt naked and insufficient. Likely Glorfindel saw the effort put into the conservative choice of garments and braids, the pathetic hope raw in my eyes. "You were always something of a flittery child, stubborn only in your refusal to study. Your disrespect for the ancient heroes irked me."  
  
He respected those heroes greatly: I heard it in his tone. I did not disrespect them, I thought, and wished to say, then I realized that I had: in oft pronouncing their stories boring and agèd to a point of uselessness, I had greatly disrespected Glorfindel's heroes. I bit my tongue and endured his further criticism.  
  
"As you grew into something of an immoral woman, hardly one step below a chit, you cast a very poor reflection upon your parents. This in particular bothered me. They brought you into this world and you all but slandered their names."  
  
Tears welled in my eyes and I wanted to cry that it was a lie, I had never done such a thing! But how could I say this when I knew that Glorfindel spoke the truth and I had cast such a reflection upon my parents. Therefore I bit my tongue again and banked my tears.  
  
"Then you tried to kill yourself." No one had ever spoken to me so bluntly before. I felt salt tears biting the soft flesh of my eyes, and could not stop them. Glorfindel continued, "After that...there was no forgiveness in my heart. " I loved him; I hated him. "You were not just a bad person, you were not only disrespecting your family, you were spitting on your customs. You offended every Elf living or no." I wanted to explain, make him understand that I never meant to die, but I bit my lip. Still Glorfindel spoke on, "Truth to be told, Arwen, by that point I had given up on you. You showed no promise, no goodness. I believed, truly saw, whence Orcs came."  
  
I cried, in private, because I knew he spoke the truth. The words of Glorfindel's speech were also in my heart, which made them each more painful than any lie. When I finished crying, I dried my eyes and looked at the shadows. I was nearly late meeting Elladan, and my repost needed work.  
  
For the next year I worked harder than ever. I emptied my heart and soul, channeled everything inside of me and bent my mind to work. With uncanny dedication I learned to darn and embroider, to sew a straight stream and tat rediculously delicate lace. I progressed in the warriors' arts, learned to bend and string a bow, and though I would never equal Elladan or Elrohir in skill my marksmanship improved. My blocks and lunges grew more meaningful. And, as my skills improved, I thought better of myself. Day by day, week by week, I found myself more able to hold up my head.  
  
One day, as the snows fell, Celebrían took my hands in hers. "Darling, I do not know what has happened to you," she said, "but you are changed."  
  
"Nana, say that I am changed for the better!" I cried, needed to know that she was pleased.  
  
"I am so proud of you," she said. Celebrían understood everything.  
  
Yet something stirred ill in my heart, some door yet open to let in every wild beast. At night I lay awake in bed and searched, but could not find that door. I felt I held the key in my palm, and it seared my flesh. In time I came to accept the pain, and grew accustomed to my door. Then one day in late spring, quite by chance, that door was blown wide open, and at last I knew.  
  
He came to visit my brothers. I watched them embrace, a sloppy gesture, then race off and disappear, wrestling and tossling, into the trees. My eyes lingered on the swinging branches, disrupted by three rowdy elf-boys one would never know for adults, and Celebrían wrapped an arm around my shoulders. "I..." Swallowing, I pushed a tear away from my eye and bent to work. "I haven't the time for such antics, anyway."  
  
"Some of us, darling, simply were not made for happiness."  
  
"What?" I looked in wonder to my mother, who looked with a wistful sort of docile pout to the horizon. "Nana, what are you talking about?"  
  
She shook her head. "I never understood until you...My mother once said to me, that some of us were not made for happiness. I had asked her why she cried at night--and she did, often as not. Such was her answer."  
  
Honestly, I answered, "You are for happiness, Nana."  
  
"Yes, but yours is not such a temperament."  
  
For a long while we continued in silence. At first I was angry with her, wondering why she had to go and do that, tear us apart so just when--I felt- -we were beginning to understand each other. Just when we started to truly know each other. Could she possibly have missed the happiness of the past few months, the incredible wonder of...of being mother and daughter? I enjoyed every second of it, every agony. Yet it seemed Celebrían had not noticed at all!  
  
My imagination may have saved me, but in later years I came to consider it a gift from the Lady. I saw my mother as a young girl, trying terribly hard to be unhappy and defeated. She struggled to be like her mother, wishing more than anything to be loved. She was loved, though, and she knew it. It wasn't enough. Why, she asked herself, can I not take this love for what it is? Why can I not be pleased and simply return it? That moment, she was truly defeated. She hated it so! She raged against it in a tumult of smiles, jokes and laughter. She refused to be unhappy! Celebrían accepted that she was not like to her mother, and set herself free.  
  
"The greatest gift is peace, and you can only give it to yourself."  
  
I am uncertain which of us said this, but I know that it is true.  
  
Approaching Legolas, I was not afraid. I knew what I had to do, and preferred to work towards a friendship with him or accept a refined enmity than to be so uncertain. Therefore it was not courage so much as...is there any word in this clumsy tongue? Nay, there is none but crude insufficiencies. They say brass, sand, balls, and none means, truly, that deep-down feeling of being filled by emptiness to attack an enemy without caring the result of the battle.  
  
I frightened him, I think, in laying out the set so blatantly. "This cannot continue, this eyes-sliding-over-each-other, this formal-and-public relationship. I seek to make amends for the past. Accept my apology or do not, and let it all be done."  
  
He stared at me, wide-eyed. I had cornered him in a corridor, not the best of locations, but rarely had I any chance to see him in private, and so jumped at the privilege. "Arwen..." He bought time for himself. "Must we decide this now?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Sadly he shook his head. "You cannot force friendship, Arwen."  
  
I nodded, not agreeing but accepting. "Then let us agree that we are not friends."  
  
We shook hands, and the deed was done. Over the next few centuries we did build something of an acceptance for one another, but neither of us called it friendship, and neither took the next step to forming a true camaraderie. That quiet, secret evening in the corridor was a stolen ending and the beginning of a true freedom.  
  
To be continued 


End file.
